Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(51)

I will go with them and watch over him, Nicholas told her. He and I have more to talk about in dreams. It is the only way he can sense me.

She took a deep breath at the sudden pang she felt. Her growing affection for Nicholas was the most uncomplicated relationship she had at the moment. “I know he would appreciate that very much.”

He put a shimmering hand to her face. She felt the warmth, and the steady strength in his presence. Like I said, call me if you have any need of me.

She reached up to his hand, wishing again that she could actually touch him. “You would hear me?”

If you direct your call to me, I will hear you.

Her lips pulled into a smile. “And we are still going to work together to bring you back, right?”

Yes, he told her. Darkness flashed across his features and brought with it a touch of savagery. I have too much unfinished business in this lifetime not to try.

If she hadn’t experienced everything that she had over the last several days, she might have been much more unsettled at that flash of expression. Still, she shivered.

She said, “Then I will see you soon.”

Yes, Mary. The ghost bent and brushed her lips with his in a light, fleeting caress. We will see each other again soon.

Her eyes widened. As she touched her lips with her fingers, he melted away.

Chapter Eighteen

MARY STARED AT the space where Nicholas had been standing.

Were there implications in that kiss?

She thought . . . there might have been implications in that kiss, which seemed kind of crazy since only one of them was alive and embodied.

Or maybe she was just still overtired and out of balance. At the moment, she was prone to reading the wrong thing into just about anything.

She scrubbed her face hard with both hands. Implications or not, she had too many other things to deal with, so she set the whole thing aside. She gave the Haokah figure one last glance and resumed her exploration of the cabin.

Most of the items decorating the cabin appeared to be from the indigenous cultures of North America. There was the occasional exotic surprise, such as a small, crudely shaped statuette of a horse that appeared to be Grecian, or an exquisite, simple marble urn. An antique spinning wheel had been tucked into one corner of the living room. It was obviously still used, the spindle and the wheel threaded with wool.

As she acquainted herself with Astra’s house, she knew she was really circling around the hot, steady flame of Michael’s presence, which emanated from one of the rooms. She did pause when she came to a metal firewall door that was locked with a thoroughly modern, electronic keypad.

The sight of the door was jarring. It seemed starkly out of place with the rest of the house. After eyeing it with a frown, she moved on.

Another door was closed, only this one looked as simple and ordinary as the rest. She could sense Michael’s presence on the other side, and she bit her lip, sorely tempted to either knock or crack the door open and peek inside. If he wasn’t asleep, perhaps they could talk.

But if he were asleep, her knock would wake him up. He needed to rest as desperately as she, and he had still been working when she had fallen into bed. It wasn’t fair to disturb him. She didn’t even want to try cracking open the door.

She moved to one of the windows to look out. Astra worked in a large vegetable garden. Her small, thin figure made a compact bundle as she knelt between rows. She pulled weeds from between young, green shoots while a light breeze stirred her white hair.

The chore looked so ordinary, yet Mary could sense a density of spirit activity swirling around the old woman. Astra was doing much more than it appeared at first glance.

Something inside of Mary relaxed. With both Michael and Astra occupied, there was nothing for her to do but rest. She stretched out on the couch and, with a sense of deep relief, let herself doze in the quiet of the afternoon.

A noise brought her awake. As she sat up, she realized that she had heard quiet movement from behind Michael’s closed door.

She rose and moved toward his room to pause just outside the door. What if he had just been tossing and turning in his sleep? She hadn’t heard any further movement, but she grew convinced that either he was awake, or he was close to it. Something about his energy had shifted and grown sharper.

If he was close to waking, he had rested enough. This time, she didn’t back away. She eased the door open a crack to peer inside.

Heavy curtains had been pulled shut at the window, but even though the room lay in deep shadow, she could still see details.

The bedroom’s furnishings were minimal. Michael sprawled facedown on the covers of a king-sized bed. He still wore the black cotton pants he had been wearing earlier. His torso and feet were bare, and his dark head was buried in a pillow.

She glanced from his broad, muscular back to the bedside table. It held a lamp, along with the first clock that she had seen in the house, and a gun. The clock’s luminous digital face read 2:23 P.M.

She regarded the gun wryly and with a pang of sadness. He wouldn’t or couldn’t fully relax even here.

She had expected him to roll for his gun as the door opened, or at the very least sit up, but he did neither of those things. Some deep, buried part of him must realize that she wasn’t a threat. She wanted to believe that he knew she was present, and that he welcomed her, but cold reason said that more likely his defenses weren’t quite as heightened on the island because he knew they were relatively safe for the time being.