Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(52)

She inched across the room to squat by the bed. He was still in a light sleep. He had showered, although he hadn’t bothered to shave. She caught the faint, familiar scent of Astra’s soap.

In spite of the shadow of beard that darkened his jaw, he seemed younger in repose, his harsh features softened. She felt guilty about studying him without his knowledge and almost turned to go, but then she stopped.

By his own admission, he was a pragmatic man. Astra struck her the same way. Ruthlessness was one of the traits they shared. Mary had a gut feeling that when he got up, she might find herself at the mercy of his and Astra’s agendas.

That was okay. She respected it. Michael and Astra had been preparing for a long time for the danger they faced. They were much more knowledgeable than she, and they had been preparing for a confrontation that had been building over centuries.

But she had her own agenda. If she didn’t manage ruthlessness, she certainly achieved stubbornness. Remembering how Michael had connected with her when she had been locked inside her own mind, she laid a hand on his arm and sank her awareness into him. This time she focused on his presence, the ephemeral part of him rather than his physical body.

She had been prepared to fumble her way through something she hadn’t yet attempted in this lifetime, but in a fast, catlike swipe, Michael’s presence connected with hers.

She lost her physical point of reference, except for a distant awareness of her hand as it rested on his muscled bicep.

What do you need, Mary?

Sorry to wake you.

I’m not awake yet, he said. My body is still resting.

That was a neat trick, and something else for her to learn.

She floated in nothingness, with no sight or sound other than his disembodied, measured voice. His telepathic voice sounded controlled and self-contained, like an impersonal voice on an answering machine. Mr. Enigmatic had survived the trip and was doing just fine.

I don’t like this, she said. I feel like I’m floating in an isolation tank. When you connected with me in my head, we had a cave and a floor and light so that we could see each other. How did you do that?

She could almost hear him sigh. I’ll teach you later, he said. You did most of the work. You were trapped in your memories, and the image of the cave was yours. I simply entered the scene. What do you need?

She said, I heard you stirring, and I wanted to talk to you in private.

What did you want to talk about?

The guarded neutrality in his mental voice hurt more than she had expected.

In a flash of intuition, she knew that his disembodied voice was a deliberate ploy to keep their conversation at a distance. She almost told him, Never mind, I’m sorry. She almost broke the connection, but then she didn’t.

She had been following her gut instinct all her life. When she did, for the most part things had turned out. Whenever she tried to make decisions based on more rational criteria, the results were less than successful. Witness her foolish fiasco of a marriage to Justin. She had parsed that decision down to a cold-blooded nicety, when her gut had known better.

And as Astra had asked earlier, why do things always have to make sense or operate on human logic?

So she followed her gut. She said, I had a dream. I wanted to show you an image so you could help me identify it. Do you mind?

A long, undefined moment passed, and a sick feeling began to bloom in the pit of her stomach. He wouldn’t reject her. Not her, of all people. Not after looking for her all this time. He wouldn’t stay closed off. Would he?

He said, Reconstruct the image and put yourself in it. Visualize all the details around you like it was in your dream. Do you remember it well enough?

Yes.

She did as he said. It was remarkably easy. Within a few moments, the complete image settled around her like a tent. She looked around with satisfaction at the old ruins of the chapel. Everything was as clear and immediate, and as rich with sensual detail as it had been the first time.

She told him, Okay, I’m ready.

She moved to her altar and sat on it cross-legged. The noon sun poured down like fiery gold rain. Earthy, dark power welled from the altar, and the light and dark energies met again inside of her.

This time she wasn’t taken by surprise and knocked out of the image. She found that she could hold her position, although the intensity of the power made the construct of her body shimmer like the mirage that it was.

Michael appeared in the chapel. He was dressed in a black T-shirt, black combat pants and boots.

They were clothes made for fighting. Even now he shielded himself. The realization caused another pang.

He spun on one heel as he cast a swift glance around. Then he looked at her. His expression was grim, unreadable, and his eyes sword sharp.

She kept her voice soft and easy. “What do you think of it?”

His gaze narrowed. “How can you be here and not know what this place is?”

He could have said, How could you be in this place and not know yourself?

“I know what this place is.” She ran her fingers along the cool, uneven surface of the altar. “I wanted you to see it.”

Astra had said she had needed to connect with some place inside of her. Understanding had blossomed only after she had awakened from her dream.

The chapel didn’t exist anywhere in physical form. Although her mind had chosen the scenery, the details of the image didn’t matter. They were cosmetic. They provided definition to the eye, symbols of that which was invisible.