Rising Darkness (Game of Shadows #1)(14)

As she walked through the grounds, she let the sights and sounds of normal university life wash over her, drifting through the memories of her time as a student. It hadn’t been that long ago, but she still felt completely disconnected from the younger woman she had been.

As a college student, she had been more carefree, although she hadn’t realized it at the time. Her dreams had been nothing more than a cipher to be figured out with time, therapy and conviction. Then they wouldn’t trouble her anymore. She pulled her face into a wry twist. Where had all her stamina gone?

Eventually she reached a familiar incline, and she walked through a grove of trees to reach the Notre Dame Grotto, located by a small picturesque lake.

Built over a hundred years ago, the Notre Dame Grotto was an exact replica of the Grotto of Massabielle near Lourdes in France, only the Grotto at the university had been built a fraction of the original’s size.

The shrine was dedicated to Mary, Mother of God. As she approached the entrance to the man-made cave, Mary glanced up at the statue of the Virgin Mary, which was located in an overhead niche.

Mary, Queen of Heaven. This month—May—was Mary’s month, she remembered, as she wandered over to the glowing candles. A couple stood nearby, talking together in quiet voices. They nodded at her and smiled as they walked out, leaving her alone in the Grotto.

She was grateful for the solitude but wary as to how long it would last. The Grotto was a popular place. She stood for a while looking at the lit candles, letting herself drift into thoughtlessness. Occasionally the restless wind gusted in and caused the candles to flicker, but no one came to disturb her solitude.

Finally she roused herself to do what she came to do.

Hail Mary, Mother of God. . . . she said mentally and smiled. This is Mary Katherine Byrne, praying to you for the first time in what seems like forever. I haven’t said the rosary since I was a child. I don’t remember how it all goes. I do have a good Irish Catholic name, though, and my parents saw me baptized and at least halfway raised. But then they died, and my aunt didn’t care for praying. Do you forgive such things? Do they even cross your awareness?

She found an unlit candle and a taper, and she lit the candle with care. Strangely, though the breeze still gusted around her head and shoulders, the candles had stopped flickering. The tiny flames stood pure and straight.

Queen of Heaven, she thought as she watched her candle. Do you watch over your namesakes? Or are you only concerned with matters that involve your Son?

I NEED HELP!

The mental outcry burst out of her with such force, she staggered. Heat flooded her again. She felt as though her clothes might burst into flame.

Gasping, she tore off her jacket. The breeze had come back to circle her in a whirlwind. She flung out a hand to catch her balance and knocked over candles. The back of her hand felt seared.

What had Gretchen said?

Gretchen had said . . . had said . . .

We could dream of our past lives and we could dream of our futures, other worlds and other realities. We can travel in our dreams and speak to people we know who are alive, or those who are dead. . . .

And that was important, it was a message, it was something she needed to hear, but that wasn’t IT. That wasn’t what she needed to remember.

Gretchen had said . . .

Mary said aloud, her hoarse voice an experiment of air and vibration, “My dreams are real.”

As she said it, the intolerable internal pressure that had been building up over the last month, over her entire life, burst. Something tore and she didn’t know what it was, whether it had been inside her or around her.

Something tore away.

The breeze that had turned into a whirlwind now became a maelstrom, and her mind was filled with howling.

Her sight glazed with light. The world tilted, and she fell. She curled into a fetal position to protect herself from the storm, wrapping her arms around her head. She lost track of time. She might have lain forever on cold stone, an effigy, and all her life had been a dream.

A countless, ageless time later she attempted a breath, then another. Her arms loosened from around her head and her body uncurled. She patted the ground with a trembling hand. It seemed solid enough.

In slow degrees she struggled to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself for she had cooled again and was starting to shiver. Her head still rang from the aftermath of a gigantic noise, and she felt blank with shock. She had no idea how to categorize what she had just experienced.

A woman bent over her. Mary started and shrank back, staring up into dark, lustrous eyes. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I seem to have, I don’t know, fainted, I guess. . . .”

Child, the woman said, reaching out one hand.

“Thank you.” Automatically she reached back. Somehow she found herself on her feet. Those incredible, compassionate eyes. Mary couldn’t stop staring at them. They were filled with such beauty, dark and yet lit as if starlight shone in them.

Her world lurched again. It wasn’t starlight in those eyes but candlelight.

The light wasn’t from a reflection in the woman’s gaze BUT FROM THE CANDLES THAT SHONE BEHIND HER.

Mary sucked air, and everything she thought she knew about the world crashed into ruins.

Child, the woman said. You called, and I came.

The words were there and Mary clearly heard them, even though no sound had been made. She pressed fingers against her mouth, and without thinking, she answered in the same way. Holy crap. I mean, Holy Mother. Th-thank you.