Shimmer (Riley Bloom #2)(5)

And that’s when I turned. That’s when I spun on my heel, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “As it just so happens, that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.”

He looked at me, his expression a little muddled, chaotic—a result of that hectic word deluge he’d spewed forth.

“I’m exercising my free will. And though I may not be as well versed in the rule book as you, Oh Mighty Guide of Mine, I’m pretty dang sure you lack the authority to keep me from realizing my destiny.”

Then, without waiting for a response, I was gone. Feet pushing hard into the sand, intent on keeping my progress steady and sure, choosing walking over flying since, in my experience anyway, flying in the fog isn’t nearly as much fun as it might seem at first. The poor visibility makes for a pretty blah view.

Bodhi’s voice continuing to haunt me as he hurled words like stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, overly willful, misguided, irrational, impulsive—none of them the least bit flattering, but all of them piercing through the fog and trailing right behind me nonetheless.

And just like before, they bore no lasting effect.

To me, it was just a bunch of bippidy blah blah.

I mean, maybe what he said was true.

Maybe it wasn’t.

It was of no particular interest to me either way.

Because despite what Bodhi claimed about the rules, and the Council, and my own very long list of extremely flawed character traits, there was one thing I knew for absolute sure: There were no accidents, coincidences, or random events.

The universe just didn’t operate like that.

I’d seen that dog for a reason.

And I was determined to get to the bottom of it.





5


Although I couldn’t say for sure how far I had walked—due to the intensity of the mist I could neither see behind me nor in front of me—I did know that I’d walked far enough for Bodhi’s voice to completely fade into nothing.

Walked for so long I could no longer hear Buttercup’s panting breath or excited barks.

Aside from the constant lull and sway of the sea lapping the shoreline, and the familiar, almost-plaintive cry of the seagulls soaring overhead, I couldn’t hear much of anything.

Couldn’t see anything.

Couldn’t hear anything.

Which probably explains why I was so surprised when I stumbled upon it.

And I do mean stumbled.

I’d been so intent on merging my energy with the sand, the sea, the sky, and all the rest of my surroundings, so focused on merging my vibration with that of the physical world, that one moment I was just strolling along, more or less minding my own business, and the next I’d toppled right over, headfirst.

Yep, even in my ghostly form I could still get tripped up.

Even though it probably seems as though I should’ve just slipped right through it, the thing is, in the end, it all came down to energy. In order to make contact with something more solid, in order to experience the earth plane in the same way I used to, I had to draw upon its energy. And my being so focused on drawing upon the energy of just about everything around me … well, let’s just say that’s pretty much what did me in.

I screwed up my face, pushed my long blond bangs out of my eyes, and glared at the offending piece just before me.

Expecting to find some kind of jagged, water-carved beach rock, only to see that it wasn’t a rock at all—or at least not the kind I’d assumed.

Somewhere along the way, the beach had managed to transition from a misty shroud of white sand and turquoise waters into a desolate, seemingly forgotten, fog-free, patchy-grass graveyard without my even noticing.

A seriously decrepit, seriously old graveyard.

The kind with crumbling tombstones, sunken graves, and creepy-looking trees with cruel, leafless branches that hovered in such a way they looked as though they’d pluck you right off the ground and into their clutches.

The kind of graveyard you see in scary movies.

Only this was no movie, this was the real thing.

I squinted at the tombstone that’d tripped me, searching for a name, a date, something that might mean something to me or provide a clue of some kind. It was so old and crumbly, all I could make out was the vague outline of what might’ve been an angel’s wing, but could’ve just as easily been something else entirely, along with a partial name and date that’d been etched away by the cruel hand of time.

I looked all around, seeing there were more—lots and lots of them. Some similar, some not, some with elaborate markings and angels and crosses and things, some not much more than a sad little stump.

And just as I remembered what Bodhi had said about the Phantom Dog’s penchant for guarding graves and tombs and such, I saw it.

Not the dog.

Not—well, not anything substantial enough for me to really put a label on.

Let’s just say it was more of a shimmer.

A soft, pink-gold shimmer.

And I watched, mesmerized, pretty much spellbound really, as it twirled and danced and flitted and jumped. Bouncing lightly from the head of each grave, gracefully leaping from tree to tree, until it finally landed before me. Hovering in place as I scrambled to my feet and watched in amazement as that glowing ball of energy slowly stretched, and curved, and transformed itself into a pair of eyes, a nose, a mouth, and teeth—

Transformed itself into—me!