Storm of Visions (22 page)

Jacqueline stared into her eyes.

Isabelle was completely calm, and completely secure with her gift.

Jacqueline needed help; blood oozed from the cut on her hand, her brain hurt, and the tightness in her chest continued to grow, robbing her of oxygen. She hadn’t died in her free fall from the plane, but she feared she would die here and now. She nodded, and whispered, “Please.”

Caleb tensed.

Isabelle placed her fingers on Jacqueline’s forehead right over her eyes, then on her chest over her heart.

The pain did not diminish. But Jacqueline’s mind began to grasp the reality of this place and this time. Her heart rate slowed as the fight-or-flight instinct moderated. She was safe here. She was secure in Caleb’s arms. And whatever had happened on the jet needed to be dealt with, but not yet. Not until she felt better—or at least as if she would live.

Isabelle pulled away now, and ran her palms over Jacqueline from head to toe . . . yet she never touched her. Her cupped hands hovered mere inches from Jacqueline’s skin, pausing here and there, assessing and deciding. When she was done, she came back to Jacqueline’s face and said, “We’ll start now.” Sliding her hands around Jacqueline’s head, she cupped it, and sighed and swayed as her fingers found the lump on Jacqueline’s head . . . and as Jacqueline’s headache eased, Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears.

She drew her hands away and sat quietly, her face contorted as she fought her way through the pain.

Jacqueline realized that somehow, Isabelle shared her injury to heal it.

“I’m better,” Jacqueline said—and coughed. And coughed.

Quickly, Isabelle passed her hands over Jacqueline’s chest. For a long moment, the pain tightened its grip, and Jacqueline couldn’t breathe.

Then in unison, they coughed, took a desperate breath, and went into a frenzy of coughing.

Jacqueline rolled into a tight ball of agony. That smoke . . . it shredded the tissues in her lungs. It clung in her airways with hooks and claws. Isabelle couldn’t help her with this. This smoke . . . even together, they couldn’t fight it.

Caleb gripped her shoulders.

Dimly she could hear him shouting at Irving. “Why did you send Jacqueline up here?”

“Because we need guidance or a prophecy or
something
,” Irving shouted back.

A few feet away, Jacqueline saw Samuel crouched beside Isabelle as she spasmed and coughed.

They were going to die. They were going to die.

And just when it seemed they would . . . the coughing stopped.

The pain eased.

They could
breathe
.

Jacqueline collapsed in limp relief.

Isabelle rested on the floor beside her, holding her throat and wheezing.

They lay, exhausted, sweaty with exertion.

Jacqueline reached over and touched Isabelle’s hand.

Isabelle turned her head to face her.

“Thank you,” Jacqueline whispered.

“That smoke . . .” Isabelle began. Then, with a quick glance around at the watching eyes, she changed her mind and replied only, “You’re welcome.”

Caleb touched Jacqueline’s cheek, looked into her eyes. “You’re really better?”

Jacqueline nodded.

He looked up at Isabelle. “What about her hand?”

Samuel still knelt beside Isabelle, and he looked up sharply. “Give it a rest, asshole. She almost died helping your girlfriend.”

Isabelle didn’t stir, didn’t glance, didn’t acknowledge Samuel’s defense in any way.

Scowling, he stood and strode out, leaving a small, strained silence behind.

Sitting up, Isabelle pushed the hair out of her face. Her voice was hoarse, but still cultured and cool as she said, “Believe it or not, Jacqueline’s hand was the least of her problems.”

Jacqueline sneaked a glance at her palm, brown with dried blood, wet with new blood. It was
not
the least of her worries. But how could she explain what that man with the flaming eyes had tried to do to her?

Carefully, she cupped her injured hand in the good one.

Pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, Caleb wrapped it around her hand, masking the damage.

Martha stepped forward. “In my day, I’ve had plenty of experience stitching up wounds. Never lost a patient, never had one not heal clean.”

“Let’s get her to our bedroom, and you can take care of that.” Caleb helped Jacqueline to her feet.

Aleksandr helped Isabelle.

“Wait.” Irving stopped them with a raised, trembling hand. “First, I must know—Jacqueline, what was your vision?”

Jacqueline shook as she realized . . . she
had
seen it; she
had
been there. . . . In a slow, halting voice, she told Irving, told them all, about Zusane aboard the failing aircraft, how Zusane had seen her and been horrified, how Jacqueline had tried to save her and instead been pushed out of the plane by her mother’s own hand. She told them everything . . . except seeing the man with the flaming blue eyes.

Some caution, some lack of trust for these people she barely knew, held her back.

“So . . . your mother saved your life,” Tyler said.

Jacqueline turned her head and looked at the quiet, handsome man.

“She
did
.” Tyler sounded very certain of his facts. “If you’d gone down with the plane, or strapped on the parachute, you would have been tied to that place and time, and you wouldn’t have escaped. When she pushed you out, she pushed you back here to the attic, where you were having your vision.”

“How do you know that?” Charisma asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know
how
. I just do. I am a psychic, too, you know.”

“Sure. My mother’s great,” Jacqueline said. “Pushing her daughter out of a plane should clinch that Mother of the Year award.”

The awkward silence fell again, an almost familiar presence in the attic.

“Enough discussion. Jacqueline needs to go to bed,” Caleb announced firmly, and led her toward the door.

Everyone followed, a solemn procession down the stairs and into her bedroom.

Irving indicated that Isabelle should take the chair.

Caleb helped Jacqueline onto the bed. “Okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“I’m fine. See what you can find out about Mother.” Not because she was in any doubt, but because he had been Zusane’s bodyguard for years. He’d once walked away from Jacqueline on Zusane’s command; he was loyal to Zusane, and she could sense the unease behind his calm facade.

With a nod, he left.

Martha left, too, and returned with a medical bag. Unwrapping the cloth, she examined Jacqueline’s hand, and even her voice sounded pinched and disapproving when she said, “If I might make a suggestion, Mr. Shea? In the future, when you send Miss Vargha off to access a vision, perhaps it would be wise for her to draw a circle on the floor around her. A circle drawn by one of the Chosen Ones promises at least a little protection, I believe.”

Picking up the remote, Irving turned the television on and flipped through the news channels. He wasn’t paying attention when he said, “Yes. Good idea. Make sure you do that, Jacqueline.”

Martha sighed audibly.

McKenna left the room and returned with bottled water and a plate of nuts and cheeses. Opening a bottle, he handed it to Jacqueline. “Here, miss, you’ll need this after your ordeal.”

He didn’t look or sound any different than he ever did, but Jacqueline was pleased. She’d helped Irving, and with that, she’d won her way back into McKenna’s good graces. Thank heavens; she wouldn’t have to worry about undercooked chicken now.

Aleksandr fell on the food as if he hadn’t eaten for months. The others took the water with thanks.

Martha’s bag proved surprisingly well-stocked. As she worked on Jacqueline’s hand, she saw Jacqueline peering anxiously at her work, and said, “I can’t do what Isabelle can do, but when the Gypsy Travel Agency recruited me, I was a nurse.”

“I thought you were a—” Jacqueline stopped when Martha shot her a dark glance.

“A maid? A cook? A housekeeper? I’ve been all that, too.” Her sutures were small and neat. “I’ve been everything they’ve ever asked me to be.”

“For which we are thankful.” Irving never took his gaze off the television.

Neither did Aleksandr or Aaron. The small room was crowded with everyone in the house—except Caleb and Samuel. They watched the TV or nibbled at the appetizers. No one seemed to want to leave. They wanted confirmation of Jacqueline’s vision.

And when they got it—what would they do? Be awestruck? Thank her?

Treat her like a freak?

With a shock, she realized—no, they wouldn’t. Because among the Chosen Ones, she was not a freak—she was gifted.

Leaning close to Martha, she whispered, “Can you sew my tattoo back together the way it was?”

Martha looked up into Jacqueline’s face, and what she saw must have satisfied her, because for the first time in Jacqueline’s memory, she smiled. Smiled and said, “I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.” Leaning back, Jacqueline relaxed, at home for the first time in her life.

M
artha was packing her medical bag when Caleb returned. He looked stern, older, as he said, “I can’t get Zusane on her cell, which doesn’t surprise me, but I can’t get any of my men, either, and that is unusual.”

“Damn.” Irving flipped off the television in disgust. “There’s nothing here. Aleksandr!”

Aleksandr jumped and dropped a slice of cheese on the carpet. “What, sir?”

“You’re good with the Internet.”

“I am?” He scooped up the cheese and popped it in his mouth.

“You’re a college student. Of course you are.”

“If you’re looking for porn,” Aaron said out of the corner of his mouth.

Aleksandr ’s fist shot out and smacked Aaron’s arm hard.

Tyler gave a crack of laughter, hastily muffled, then said, “I’m a fair hand at searching the Internet myself.”

“Good. Come on, let’s get on my computer and you can find me the news story about—” Irving stopped, and shot Jacqueline an anxious glance.

Jacqueline met his gaze. She wasn’t going to get hysterical, if that was what he worried about. But the confirmation he sought was a certainty in her mind.

Her mother was dead, one more casualty in the battle between good and evil.

Jacqueline wanted to ask who was winning.

He must have read the truth in her face, for he looked suddenly old and weary. “Come on, gentlemen. Let’s go and leave the ladies alone.” Irving tucked his hand into McKenna’s arm and used him as support as they walked from the room.

Aaron grabbed Aleksandr’s collar and shoved him out the door. “Go on, kid. Show us what you can do with a Google search.”

Tyler followed, a little apart, a tall, graceful Tolkien elf among brash, brawling humans.

With the five men gone, the bedroom felt roomier, but colder, too.

“You’re going to be uncomfortable with this hand,” Martha told Jacqueline, and handed her a small, plain bottle of pills. “Take two of these every four hours. I’ll be back with something to eat.” With an efficient nod, she bustled out the door.

Her exit left Isabelle and Charisma, Jacqueline and Caleb, and an unnatural hush in the room.

Caleb sat on the bed beside Jacqueline. He picked up her bandaged hand and looked at it. “Did she fix it?”

“She did her best.” Jacqueline repeated Martha’s assurance, taking comfort from the implied promise.

“Good.” Caleb glanced up swiftly, capturing her gaze with his. “Why did you finally go up to the attic?”

“Irving thought I could access my visions there.”

Caleb half stood, looking as if he wanted to kill someone.

Hastily, she added, “And he was so sad.”

“He pulled on your heartstrings, huh?” Caleb couldn’t have looked more cynical.

“Don’t be like that, Caleb. I thought he was faking it, too, but he’s really broken up. He lost his friends and his comrades. Think about it.” She tugged at his hand. “This disaster has hurt him . . . so much.”

“All right.” Caleb put his hand on her head. Speaking to Charisma and Isabelle, he said, “You’ll stay with her, keep her company, until we find out exactly what happened?”

“Of course, Mr. D’Angelo. We’re glad to do that.” Isabelle stood and spoke calmly, but he noted that she looked drawn and tired, and like Jacqueline, she cradled one hand in the other.

Had she somehow acquired a gash on her hand, too?

Charisma was less of a lady, and more of a bully. “You go check stuff out, Caleb. I’ll keep an eye on them both.”

 

On the first floor, Aaron observed as Irving wandered between the television room where the news stations blared and the study where Aleksandr and Tyler argued over which keywords to use in their search.