Smoke on the Water (8 page)

Best to keep this professional from the beginning. In that vein he didn't voice his usual “call me Sebastian if you like” spiel. He needed all the distance he could get. If she called him Dr. Frasier, it might help. Certainly couldn't hurt.

Willow's gaze went to the file on his desk. “I'm sure you've read all about our last session, and any others too.”

“I'd like to hear it in your own words. Unless you'd rather discuss something new. That's fine too.”

“You shaved your beard.”

The statement might seem random, but it wasn't. Willow was trying to form a bond with Sebastian, which was what he, as her therapist, should be trying to do with her. According to the file, Willow had been receiving therapy longer than Sebastian had been dispensing it. Like Mary, she knew the drill better than he did.

“I did,” he agreed.

“It suited you.”

“It didn't make me scary?”

“I don't think shaving off your beard is going to change that.”

“You're scared of me?” he blurted, surprised. She didn't seem to be.

“No.” She laughed. “You'd never hurt me.”

She said that as if she'd known him longer than the few days she had. Before he could question her about that, she questioned him.

“How much longer?”

He glanced at the clock. “We just started.”

“I meant how much longer do I have to be in this place?”

“That depends.”

She tilted her head. “On?”

“Are you still having visions?”

Her brow furrowed. “You say that as if you believe I had them.”

“You believe you had them.”

“I did.”

“Had them or believed that you did?”

She shrugged, glanced away. “By believing I had them does that mean I actually had them?”

“If a man speaks in the forest and no one hears him is he still wrong?” His sister's favorite joke, though whenever she'd said it to Sebastian she hadn't been laughing.

Willow's gaze flicked back to his. “What?”

“Joke. Sorry. Variation of ‘if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it does it still make noise?'”

“Yes?”

“I'm inclined to agree in the case of the tree.”

“But not in the case of a vision?”

“Or in the case of men being genetically wrong.”

She didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. Sebastian gave up trying to amuse her. He'd never been very good at it.

“What do you think about the visions?” he asked. He could tell her that they were delusions, but for her to get better she had to believe it too.

“There's no such thing,” she said.

Her voice, her face made him inclined to believe her. Which was foolish. He knew as little about her expressions as she did about his. He'd met people in the past who were so convinced of their own delusions they'd made others believe in them too.

Jim Jones anyone?

Sebastian curled his hand around the glass he'd placed out of sight behind a stack of files on his desk. He set it right in front of Willow. The sunshine sparkled off the water inside.

“And what about this?” he asked.

Her gaze fixed on his and not the water. In her eyes he could have sworn he saw hurt, betrayal, perhaps fear, but her words revealed none of those things. “What about it?”

“I'm not going to be able to release you if you still think you see the future every time you look into the water.”

“How do I prove to you that I don't?”

“It would help if you actually looked into it.”

Instead she closed her eyes, took a breath, let it out. Her lips compressed; her fingers clenched.

“Willow?”

Her eyes snapped open. She focused on the glittering water. For an instant he thought everything would be all right.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

 

Chapter 6

At first I thought I was only seeing Dr. Frasier's reflection in the water. Even when I saw myself there too, I didn't get it. But when a man came out of the trees and pulled a knife at the sight of me, I started to catch a clue. What was it with men, knives, and me?

The guy wore black from head to toe. I would have thought it was in order to blend into the night, except his clothes were strange—as if he'd stepped out of a past where men still wore hats and clunky shoes.

“Another of you!” he exclaimed. “You're like rabbits.”

He had an accent, a brogue, I thought, though how I knew that I had no idea. When he lifted the knife, the full moon glinted off his ring.

Snarling wolf. I'd seen one before.

“One of you be dead and soon there'll be another.”

The blade arced downward. Sebastian stepped between us.

Panic flared. I tried to push him out of the way, but he wouldn't go. The blade struck him in the side. He grunted, but he didn't fall. Instead he did some fancy roundabout twirl and kicked the dark man in the chest.

“Ooof.” The attacker's breath rushed out.

You'd think having the air knocked out of you would cause anyone to stop, or at least slow down. Not this guy. He came forward again, wildly swinging.

Sebastian punched out with the heel of his hands—right, left, right. He couldn't get close enough to land a strike with the knife flailing about, but he did get the man to back up.

They were almost to the trees when Sebastian staggered, nearly going to his knees. I'd only taken a single step forward, hands outstretched, before he hauled himself upright again. The lurching movement revealed that his shirt, once light brown, now glistened maroon with blood.

Our attacker smirked. “Give me the witch and live.”

Sebastian flipped him off. The fellow didn't seem to know what he meant. Who didn't know that?

The question became irrelevant when he began to circle, knife out. From the way Sebastian swayed, we didn't have much time.

I cast around for a weapon—even a big stone would be better than nothing—and I saw the wolf.

The surprise made me blink, and the forest was gone, along with the dark man, a bloody Sebastian, and the black wolf with the green eyes. Why had she seemed so familiar?

Dizziness washed over me as it always did after a vision. Luckily I was sitting, and I didn't fall down. Hoping against hope that the vision had happened so fast I could pretend it hadn't, my gaze flicked to Dr. Frasier's.

He knew.

“Guess I'm not getting out any time soon,” I said.

He didn't answer, which was answer enough.

I grabbed the glass of water and drank it with my eyes closed. When I set it back on the desk, the tap sounded so final.

I was going to be in here for the rest of my life.

*   *   *

I slept the day away, not only because visions wiped me out, but because I was too damn depressed not to.

Dr. Frasier had tried to be kind, to give me hope, but what hope was there? As long as I saw things in the water, I couldn't go home. As I didn't have a home, that was probably for the best.

I might have continued sleeping indefinitely if Mary hadn't woken me just after midnight.

“It's time.” She held up a paper sack, which looked just like the one Peggy'd had yesterday. Not that paper sacks were all that distinct. Then she drew out the red candle and the bell, set them on the floor.

“Where'd you get that?” I sat up.

“Where do you think?” She tossed the stuffed dog over her shoulder like it was spilled salt and pulled matches out of her jumpsuit.

I snatched them out of her hand. One thing we didn't need was Crazy Mary playing with matches. The building was made of stone, but I wasn't.

Peggy might have given Mary the items for the spell, but there was no way she'd given her matches. Which meant Mary had probably stolen all of it. Surprisingly, I didn't have a problem with that. As long as the matches stayed in my hand.

“Moon's up.” She sat on the floor next to the candle and the bell. “Time's a-wasting.”

She produced Peggy's
Book of Shadows,
handed it to me, and I sat too. I opened to the spell of transportation. “Did you bring an item that gives you joy?”

“No.”

“Should I use one of mine?” I glanced around, at a loss. Not a single item in this room gave me joy. What did?

“Joy, schmoy. I want out of here.”

“Mary—” I began.

“You promised you'd try.”

I had. And the reason was to prove to Mary that not only was I not a witch, but neither was she, and neither was Peggy—or at least not the kind of witch Mary was hoping for. One who could actually transport someone using a transportation spell.

I lit the candle, rang the bell, and said the words. Mary did too. We repeated the spell and actions three times each. Nothing happened.

“See?” I leaned over and blew out the candle. “This stuff isn't real, Mary.”

Instead of agreeing, disagreeing, or punching me in the nose, Mary snatched the book out of my hands, then the candle and the bell off the floor, and ran out of the room. I sat there blinking for a minute before I followed.

The hallway was shadowed, deserted—creepy, in a mental-asylum sort of way. Somewhere in the distance someone cried out, closer still, someone moaned. Probably dreams, nothing more. Then again, who knew?

I heard the bell jangling as Mary hurried along. Sooner or later someone besides me—guard, orderly, nurse, doctor—was going to hear it, and then Mary would be in solitary again. Or maybe I would. I was the one holding the stolen matches. I tossed them back in my room and hustled after that bell.

All the way down the corridor to my right, then left and right again. The bell stopped jangling. I squinted into the gloom as Mary slipped into the library. A quick glance behind me revealed we were still alone. Considering the racket, that was magic right there.

By the time I went in too, Mary had set the candle and the bell on a table and was paging through the
Book of Shadows.
She was muttering and twitching, her eyes so wide the whites shone, and I considered calling an attendant. I'd meant to help, but it appeared I'd done more harm than good. Story of my life.

“Mary.” I approached slowly, keeping my hands where she could see them and my voice soft. “We should probably go.”

“It's tonight, remember? It's here!”

Unease rippled over me, and I cast a glance at the shadowed stacks. “What is?”

She ran to the center of the room, where the bright full moon shone through the skylight like a beacon from a spaceship. Memory flickered.

I glanced at my clothes—green scrubs, blue shirt, bare feet. Exactly what I'd been wearing in my vision. Except I'd been alone. Searching for someone. Frightened. Agitated.

“We should probably go,” I repeated.

“Yes! We should go.” Mary held out her hand.

I took it. Or I thought I did.

One instant my palm was touching Mary's, the next my hand was empty. The book Mary had been holding—Peggy's
Book of Shadows
—fell to the floor with a crack that made my breath catch. The sound far too loud in the silent, lonely room; outside the wind began to whistle.

“Mary?”

My only answer was an increase in the speed of the wind.

I walked around, found nothing but books. The more time that passed, the more frantically I searched. The rain that pattered against the skylight sounded like sleet. Oddly the moon still shone down.

My sense of déjà vu increased with every second that passed with no sight of Mary. Eventually I had to admit what I already knew.

Mary was gone.

*   *   *

Sebastian's phone rang in the middle of the night. Wasn't the first time. However, it was the first time a patient had escaped.

Dopey with sleep, he bobbled the phone. “Who?”

“Mary McAllister.”

“How?”

“No one knows.” The caller, a guard who went by the nickname Deux because he was the second Tom that was employed at the facility, sounded pretty freaked out.

Sebastian wasn't. Yet. The facility was secure. Certainly it was huge, but she had to be somewhere. If he was lucky they'd find her before he even got there, which meant he wouldn't have to call Dr. Tronsted at all.

“Surveillance footage?” They had cameras outside and on the doors. Only a few inside, on the entry, main hallway, and cafeteria. Those things were expensive.

“No sign of her.”

“Then she's still inside the building. She's hiding.”

“Better than anyone's ever hidden before.”

“Keep searching. Have you called the police?”

“Should I?”

Sebastian rubbed his forehead. Did they have protocol for an escape? He was pretty sure they did, but maybe he was the only one who'd read it. He'd have to remedy that. Perhaps update that protocol, considering. But not now.

“What's the closest police force?”

“Nearest town is twenty miles in one direction. Twenty-five in the other. As the crow flies … maybe fifteen.”

“When was Mary last seen?”

“Lights out.”

Which had been two hours ago. “On foot she couldn't have reached any of them yet.”

He'd have to call them all, just in case, and the state patrol while he was at it.

“Names of the towns?”

Deux rattled them off.

“I'll call them before I head in,” Sebastian said.

Fifteen minutes later he pointed his motorcycle toward the facility. A storm swirled on the horizon. He wasn't going to be able to ride the Harley much longer. Soon enough, any storm would mean snow. He'd have to start shopping for a reliable winter car. The thought made him melancholy.

The Harley had been one of his dad's favorite things. Sebastian had fond memories of riding on the back, arms around his father's waist, as they explored together—just the guys. Whenever Sebastian rode it, he felt closer to his father. Which was stupid. His dad was dead, along with everyone in Sebastian's family. He still wanted to ride the motorcycle all the time.