Untamed (House of Night #4)(61)

"Who the hell is Queen Tsi Whatever?"

"It sounds familiar to me. The name seems Cherokee. I wonder if it might--" My words were broken off by my gasp of shock as suddenly I knew why the writing had made me feel so weird.

"What?" Aphrodite sat up again, lifting the washcloth off her eyes and squinting at me. "What's wrong?"

"It's the writing," I said through lips that had gone cold. "This is my grandma's handwriting."

Chapter Twenty-one

"Your grandma's handwriting?" Aphrodite said. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"But that's impossible. I wrote the damn thing just a few minutes ago."

"Look, I practically transported here with Darius, and that should have been impossible, but I definitely did it."

"Yes, dork, seeing as there is no such thing as Star Trek."

"You recognized the transporter reference. You're a dork, too," I said smugly.

"No, I'm just burdened with geeky friends."

"Look, I'm positive it's Grandma's handwriting, but hang on. I have a letter from her in my room. I'll go get it. Maybe you're right . . ." I lifted my brows at her and added, ". . . for a change, and it just reminds me of her writing. "I started to hurry from the room, but on second thought stopped long enough to hold the paper with the poem on it up to Aphrodite. "Is this your normal handwriting?"

She took the paper from me and blinked several times to clear her vision. I saw the shock pass over her face and knew what she'd say before she spoke. "Well, shit! This is soooo not my writing."

"I'll be right back."

I tried not to overthink what was going on while I rushed down the hall to my room, flung open the door, and was greeted by Nala's "mee-uf-ow!" of disgruntled surprise as I interrupted her beauty nap.

It took me only a second to grab the last card Grandma had sent me. I had it sitting up on my desk (a much cheaper version of the one in Aphrodite's room). On the front of it was a picture of three grim-faced nuns (nuns!). The caption under them said, THE GOOD NEWS IS THEY'RE PRAYING FOR YOU. Inside it continued, THE BAD NEWS IS THERE ARE ONLY THREE OF THEM. It still made me giggle a little as I hurried back to Aphrodite's room, even as I wondered if Sister Mary Angela would think the card was funny or insulting. I'd bet on funny, and made a mental note to ask her about it sometime.

Aphrodite had her hand already out when I returned to her room. "Okay, let me check it out." I gave her the card and looked down with her as she held it open to the short note Grandma had written me. Then she held the paper that had the poem right up next to it and we looked from one to the other, comparing the handwriting.

"That is so damn weird!" Aphrodite said, shaking her head at the utter similarity of the handwriting. "I swear I wrote this poem not five minutes ago, but that's definitely your grandma's writing and not mine." She looked up at me. Her face looked ultra-white in comparison to the awful blood color of her eyes. "You'd better call her."

"Yeah, I will. First I want to know everything you remember about that vision." "Okay with you if I shut my eyes and put the washcloth back on my face while I talk?"

"Yeah, I'll even put some fresh water on it. Speaking of, drink some more out of that bottle. You look, well, bad."

"No wonder. I feel bad." She gulped down the rest of the Fiji Water while I rinsed out the washcloth again. After I folded it up and gave it back to her, she laid it across her eyes and settled back against her pillows again, absently stroking the purring Maleficent. "I wish I knew what this was all about," she said.

"I think I do."

"No shit? You have the poem figured out?"

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant I think this is all about that bad feeling Stevie Rae and I have been having about Neferet. She's up to something--something more than her usual brand of pain in the butt. I think she graduated to whatever it is that's going on now when Loren was killed."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you're right, but I have to tell you Neferet had no part of my vision."

"So explain it to me."

"Well, it was short and unusually clear for what my visions have been like lately. It was a pretty summer day. I couldn't tell who it was, but there was a woman sitting in the middle of a field or, no, it was more like a pasture or something. I could see a little cliff not far away, and I could hear water from a stream or small river close by. Anyway, the woman was sitting on a big white eyelet quilt. I remember thinking that it wasn't very smart of that woman to have a white quilt out there on the ground like that. It was going to get all grass stained."

"It didn't." I spoke through lips that felt numb and cold again. "It was cotton, and it washed up easily."

"So you know what I'm describing?"

"It's Grandma's quilt."

"Then it must have been your grandma who was holding the poem. I didn't see her face. I actually didn't see much of her at all. She was sitting cross-legged, and it was like I was standing behind her, peeking over her shoulder. Only, once I saw the poem, everything else went out of the vision and I was totally focused on it."

"Why did you copy it down?"