Something Witchy This Way Comes: A Jolie Wilkins Novel (21 page)

I leaned down until I could detect the faint rise and fall of the boy’s chest, could feel his shallow breaths against my cheek. I closed my eyes, and at the very second when I couldn’t feel his breath any longer, I opened my eyes and placed my hands on his shoulders.

I jolted as I came out of my trance, nearly falling backward in my shock. Righting myself against the
counter, I glanced around and saw that I was back in the morgue. Luce was staring at me with surprise. The moment of reckoning was on me. It felt like ages passed as I turned my neck in the direction of the still form lying on the cot.

The boy was blinking wide as his chest rose with the breath of life.

That evening, Luce showed me to my “guesthouse,” which was really my prison cell. I mean, I wasn’t dumb, I could see through this whole charade. I served a purpose—that’s all there was to it. But the good news was that because I was useful, he had no plans to kill me … not yet anyway. I had to imagine, though, that the Lurkers were going to continue pushing for the extinction of the creatures of the Underworld, and my next bit of business with Luce was to find out why. But I was leaving that until tomorrow. For now, I was exhausted and had other plans in mind.

My guesthouse was one of the nondescript white buildings I’d observed when Luce gave me his tour. I was at the end of one of the dirt lanes, titled “A Street.” Inside, it looked about as inviting as a cheap motel room—white walls, dark brown carpeting, and lighter brown linoleum in the kitchen and entryway. The furniture was all a lackluster off-white and included two sofas, a bed, a coffee table, and a kitchen table with two matching chairs.

“As these are guest provisions, you will not find
food in the refrigerator,” Luce said as soon as he’d unlocked the front door and ushered me into the living room. He then smiled apologetically. “We will provide you with your three daily meals.”

I glanced around the dreary accommodations and smiled with faux gratitude, reminding myself that it was important to act subservient. “Does the water work, at least?” I asked, thinking that nothing sounded better than a shower.

Luce nodded and then bowed slightly. “Please sleep well. We have much to do tomorrow.” I glanced at him questioningly and he added, “I am eager to introduce you to Nairn.”

But I couldn’t say I shared his excitement. I nodded and watched as he opened the door.

“Today was a great feat, Jolie,” he said softly. “You reaffirmed everything I imagined about you. Your power is great. I have never come across someone with your abilities before.” I looked away, unable to subdue the feelings of guilt that had been plaguing me since I’d reanimated the Daywalker. I mean, I’d basically brought my enemy back to life and who knew what that meant? Who knew if he’d end up killing one of my people? Hopefully, he’d just die off again soon, since his DNA must still be missing that piece that allowed for a normal life span. I had to assume that was the case, because although I could bring the dead back to life, it wasn’t like I could correct their ailments.

At the sound of the door closing, I realized I was alone. Well, as alone as I could be, considering that I probably had guards outside my door. There was undoubtedly also some magical force field in place that
would prevent me from using my own powers. Yes, I could have checked—I could have woven a spell that would reveal the strength of the magic aligned against me, but I figured it was better to keep my magic to myself, better to keep a low profile until I knew what I was up against.

For now, I would focus on enjoying my pseudo privacy and getting in touch with Rand. I knew I couldn’t trust our telekinetic connection—mainly because I figured that Luce would be able to breach it since Mercedes could. I decided to rely on our bond instead. I wasn’t sure what made me think it might work. I mean, I had nothing to go on because it wasn’t like I knew much about being bonded. But I also didn’t have anything else up my sleeve, and knowing how deeply connected bonded couples were, I assumed it was my best and only option.

My hope was to use our bond to send Rand information without actually thinking the words in sentence form. If I could somehow tune him in to me so he could see what I was seeing, experience what I was experiencing, I had to imagine that he’d be able to figure out where I was and come up with some sort of plan to get me out.

I wasn’t sure it would work, and chances were it wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot. Besides, what alternatives did I have? None.

Wanting more privacy than the living room afforded, I walked into the bedroom, which was just as unremarkable as the rest of the house. I took a seat on the bed. The blinds were already closed, lending the room an eerie darkness.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to
reach out to Rand, careful not to think in words, as much as I wanted to. Thinking in terms of feelings and images was actually much more difficult than I would have guessed. After a few seconds I was no better off than when I’d started.

I tried to bring to mind images of things that made me happy, but then I found myself transfixed on the colors of the images—the azure sky above Kinloch, the green of Christa’s eyes. When those thoughts merged into thoughts about how to spell each of those colors. I opened my eyes.

Ugh, this is impossible!
I railed back at that voice inside my head that had come up with this idea in the first place.
Maybe this whole thing was just stupid! Maybe I’m just going to be stuck here for the rest of my life, however short that may be!

Jolie, stop it! Don’t let yourself go there because you won’t be able to come back!
the voice responded.
Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and try it again!

That other side of me went silent, so the Tony Robbins side continued.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, right?

Yeah, I guess
.

Then use that! Focus on images, on feelings …

I sighed, trying to remember a situation that had brought me joy. Immediately, a memory of Rand and me lying in bed came to mind. I could see the outline of his beautiful body, and when he chuckled at something I said, I saw his dimples and could feel happiness welling up inside of me. I remembered being there in person, experiencing every bit of him.

I shut my eyes tighter and focused on that feeling of complete love and trust between Rand and me. I focused
on all those emotions that had helped to create our bond. And then I felt those feelings being reciprocated, felt heat burning within me, and suddenly all the images within my head scattered and were replaced with just one. And it was an image of me—I was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt and laughing at something silly Rand had said, shaking my head at him. I felt my hand—er, Rand’s hand—reach out and run his fingers down the line of my face, and I watched myself blush as I dropped my gaze to the floor.

I was in Rand’s mind! We were in each other’s minds, which meant …

It had worked! Our bond was enough.

Now that obstacle number one—finding out whether our bond was adequate enough for us to communicate—was no longer an issue, I addressed obstacle number two—how I was going to transfer information to Rand. Swallowing hard, I decided to start easy. I began with the room around me, staring at the closet door, the bed with its brown paisley comforter, the oak nightstand, the white lamp sitting on top of it. I was trying to allow Rand to experience exactly what I was experiencing. It seemed easier to zone out on everything around me, letting my mind wander.

Once I’d taken in everything the room had to offer, I took another deep breath and allowed my mind to go blank. I was asking Rand if he’d received any of it. At first there was nothing—no response, just the blankness of my own thoughts. But then something happened that threw me completely. The sudden smell of sea salt was thick in my nose. It was as if I were standing on the beach, watching the waves. I could even feel the mist of the ocean air stinging my
cheeks, and the soft sand between my toes was so real, I had to verify that I was still wearing my shoes. I knew then that Rand must be standing on the beach at Kinloch, sending me all his sensory experiences. It was working!

At first I just felt happy, then homesickness welled up in me and I wished more than ever before that I was standing with Rand on the shores of Kinloch at this very moment, that I could experience the beauty and tranquillity of my home, our home. I felt something rise up inside of me—hope. It was almost as if Rand were in the room, holding me and promising that everything was going to be okay. I could feel his determination, his love. He was vowing that he would find me, that he would ensure my safety.

I realized then how truly close we were—how our love had bonded us in such a way that we could communicate without words. I felt tears starting in my eyes and I closed them tightly, running my hands across my belly as I promised our unborn child that I would see us out of this mess. I was a survivor, and now more than ever before, I was going to rely on my instincts. I was going to beat Luce at his own game. One way or another, I was going to get us back to Kinloch Kirk.

At the sound of a knock on the front door, my nostalgia abruptly subsided, replaced by a cool sort of calm—my poker face. I stood up from where I’d been sitting on the bed and started for the living room. Taking a seat on the couch, I tried to maintain my calm facade, even though my mind was still racing with everything that had just happened.

“Come in,” I called. It occurred to me then that
Luce might have realized what was going on and had decided to put the kibosh on it.

But when the door opened, I saw that my visitor wasn’t Luce at all. It was a woman.

“I brought you dinner,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound particularly happy, the darkness of the night obscuring her features. But what I did notice was that her accent sounded American. And I had to hope that was a sign—that we were in the States. The sooner I could find out where “here” was, the sooner Rand could get me out.

“Thanks,” I answered. It was obvious that she didn’t intend to step inside, so I stood up and walked toward her.

As soon as I got a good look at her, my breath caught. It was as if every hair on my body stood at attention and I could feel energy coursing over my skin like the pitter-patter of thousands of marching ants. It’s hard to explain what exactly happened to me, but it was like I’d been struck with déjà vu. I’d never seen this girl before, but the feeling that I knew her hit me over the head like a sack of bricks.

Realizing I was standing there like a complete idiot, I tried to pull my attention away from her, tried to focus on something else, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop looking at her face. It was just so … familiar. And even stranger, she was staring at me the same way—neither of us saying anything, while the same energy seemed to sparkle off both of us, joining us in some sort of ethereal hug.

“Have … have we met before?” I asked, as if my mind were an open book—and she had the power to turn to any page she wanted and read my secrets. In
fact, I hadn’t even intended to ask her the question—it just sort of broached itself, with a mind of its own.

“No.” She shook her head as if she were as much at a loss as I was, then she cleared her throat and took a step back, to put some distance between us. As soon as she backed away, the halo of energy that seemed to join us died down a bit, until it was just lightly pulsating.

“Do you feel it too?” I asked, awed. I didn’t consider the fact that I’d completely dropped my defenses—that she was my enemy.

She didn’t respond right away, but after a moment she shook her head emphatically. It seemed she was trying to convince herself as much as me. “No,” she said at last, then narrowed her eyes at me, pushing the plate of food closer, uncomfortable with the whole exchange. And I couldn’t really blame her. “Are you going to take this or what?”

“Oh,” I said in surprise, and taking the plate from her, placed it on the table beside the door. I hadn’t been hungry before, and now I was even less so. No, my mind wasn’t on food. Where exactly it was, I couldn’t say. I noticed something in her eyes then that showed me that she was indeed experiencing this strange reaction too. Her reserve somewhat lifted as I approached her—some sort of surprise that was even now causing conflict in her blue eyes.

She lifted her long curtain of light brown hair, streaked with gold, from her shoulders and secured it with a hair tie. I could suddenly see her face more clearly, even in the low light. As soon as I did, my breath caught in my throat.

Oh my God! She … she looks like me!

We looked so similar, we could have been sisters, and suddenly Luce’s words came back to haunt me:
You’ve always been one of us
. But I refused to believe for one minute that this girl was related to me. It was far more likely that she had been magicked—a ploy of Luce’s to ensure that I believed I was truly a Lurker. The thought allowed me to breathe more easily anyway.

I knew who I was. I was Jolie Wilkins from Spokane, Washington. I’d seen plenty of pictures of my mother pregnant with me, and several photo albums documented my baby and toddler years. Furthermore, my mother was the type of person who believed in bare reality. She would never have kept something like adoption from me—she didn’t sugarcoat things.