Shattered Mirror (Eve Duncan #23)(17)

Darcy had turned on the lamp and was sitting up in bed. Her eyes were still red, but she was no longer crying. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.” She took the glass and took a sip. “It’s not as if I need anyone to—”

“I know you don’t,” Cara interrupted. “It’s probably embarrassing you, and that’s too bad. But I know about nightmares, and I couldn’t let it go on. I’ve had too many of my own.” She smiled. “It hurt me to see you hurting. So just consider that I did it for myself.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “I’ll try not to bother you again.” She tried to smile. “Evidently, I cause you trouble whether I’m awake or asleep. I wouldn’t blame you if you put in a request for a new roommate.”

“Why? Most of the time we get along fine. We can get through this.” She looked her in the eye. “You told me that everyone has secrets. What’s more secret or personal than a nightmare? You just have to promise to be there for me when I have mine.” She paused. “And let me choose what other secrets … or information I want to share with you.”

She was silent. “Oh, I’ll be there for you when you have to fight off the nightmares, Cara.” Then she smiled. “Now that last is going to be difficult, but I’ll work on it. You may have to slap me down occasionally.”

“I can do that.” Cara took the empty glass and set it on the nightstand. “Now can we try to get to sleep?” She got into bed and pulled up the covers. “It seems like a long time since we came back from dinner…”

A time that had been filled with changes and uncertainties. Nightmares and revelations that had given her a new view on Darcy Nichols.

And one stunning self-revelation that might become a terrifying nightmare of her own.

*

The light in the cottage was burning bright.

Eve Duncan was working late on the skull as she had every night since he’d given her the gift, Norwalk knew. Was she coming close?

According to his research on her, she must be very close. Even when she was working at a steady pace, it seldom took her more than five or six days to complete a reconstruction. When she was driven, sometimes only three or four.

Norwalk smiled. And you’re driven, aren’t you, Eve? I did that to you.

It was exhilarating having that much power over a woman who possessed so much power herself. He would have more power soon, but for now this was enough. It was according to plan, and the plan was everything.

But the front door was opening, and Joe Quinn was coming out as he had every night since Norwalk had given the skull to Eve Duncan.

Too bad. He was very far away from the cottage and was having to watch it through binoculars, but he knew he would still have to leave now that Quinn was on the move. Quinn was painstakingly thorough as he’d noticed the night he’d dropped off the box with the skull. And he was an ex-SEAL and not someone Norwalk wanted to deal with right now. Quinn would search the entire area thoroughly before he’d go back to Duncan and his son.

… And that blackened monstrosity of a skull that was now ruling that house because Norwalk had willed it so.

*

“You’re going to work on Sylvie tonight?” Michael asked drowsily as Eve tucked him into bed. “I’m glad … she’s been waiting for a long time.”

“By the time I get them, they’ve all been waiting for a while.” Eve pulled his blanket higher around his throat. There was nothing more wonderful than a glowing, beautiful child who was just on the edge of slumber. “Do you know once I did a reconstruction on a woman who was over two thousand years old?”

“You never told me that. Neat.”

“It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been waiting. It’s still my job to bring them home.”

He nodded, his eyes closing. “But Sylvie is kind of special, isn’t she?”

“Maybe. But it could be because she’s the one I’m working on tonight.”

He shook his head. “You don’t like what he did to her…”

“No,” she said softly. “Neither do you. I remember, you did tell me to fix her.”

“She’s already fixed inside … You need to match it…”

He was asleep.

Beautifully asleep.

She leaned closer and touched that warm, silky cheek with her index finger.

Strange, she felt as if that mystical strength that belonged to all children and Michael, in particular, was pouring into her from that featherlight contact.

Whimsical nonsense. But she had learned a lot about whimsy since Michael had come into her life. Accept it. Enjoy it.

She got to her feet, leaned forward, and brushed a kiss on her son’s forehead. “Sleep well,” she whispered. “Tomorrow.”

She turned out his lamp and glided toward the door.

A few minutes later, she was standing before her worktable, gazing down at the reconstruction. It was at the last stage before the actual final sculpting, and every feature was crude, sometimes appearing unfinished. It wasn’t unfinished, every measurement was correct, only waiting for the clay to take on life.

Eve sat down on her stool. “Here we go, Sylvie. Michael says he thinks that you’re fixed inside, and I pray that’s true. But now we have to do our part. Are you ready?” Her hands moved to the forehead that was now no longer blackened but smooth and flesh-toned. “I am. Let’s make you as beautiful as Michael thinks you are.”