Harlequin Nocturne March 2016 Box Set (30 page)

Much better. Not perfect, but better. It was tolerable. Good thing, because her last defense was running away, and right now that wasn't an option.

The relief was short-lived.

A stealthy note of caution and cunning crept over her flesh like sticky syrup. Something or someone was at the edge of her awareness. Annie dropped her hands in her lap and stared into the inky void.

A rumble vibrated in her mind, like she'd imagine an earthquake would produce. But the ground wasn't trembling. Where the hell did it come from? Even the wisps had fallen silent. Did this mean Tombi had been hurt or captured? Dread prickled her scalp.

A harsh noise like grating metal erupted. Annie jumped up, nerves jangling with adrenaline.

The rumbling and grating ceased, and a small childlike voice whispered in the night.

“Help me. Please.”

Annie's breath was so loud and ragged she might as well have had a beacon of light shining on her, telegraphing her location.

“I'm trapped,” the voice said plaintively, louder this time.

It called to the healer in her even more than the wisp's enchanting songs.

She had to help.

CHAPTER 6

“O
ver here.”

Annie squeezed the rocks fisted in both her palms and took a couple of steps forward. She held her hands out in front of her to avoid slamming into anything and carefully followed the voice.

The exquisite music returned, and she realized the voice was a soul trapped in a wisp. Thankfully, it appeared to be solitary in its flittering about the swamp. If only Tombi were here, he could help this poor soul. As for herself, she was always the last one picked for any kind of sport at school, including softball. So her strength and her aim were highly suspect. She'd be lucky to hit a large target even at the mere distance of ten feet.

Forward progress was painfully slow, but the volume of the music increased, and Annie knew she was close. She leaned against a tree and took a deep breath. Might as well speak up; the wisp already knew she was present. “If you want my help, come to me.”

A swirl of pink and purple shone through a patch of brambles a few yards ahead.

“That was quick,” she muttered.

Symphonic music emanated from the wisp, soothing her fear.

Be careful
. Annie focused on the rocks balled in her hand, their sharp edges scratching into her flesh.
Focus on the soul who wants freedom.

In the span of time it took for a struck match to catch flame, the wisp floated to within six feet of where she stood with her back pressed into the jagged bark. Its brightness lit the woods stronger than any lantern. At its center, a heart shone violet blue like the color at the base of a candle flame. That was her target. Her mouth grew dry. Could she really do it? Tombi never said what would happen once the spirit left a will-o'-the-wisp.

“Whoever, whatever you are inside there, you better help me if I free you.” Annie stepped away from the tree, raised her arm and threw the stone in her right hand.

It landed several inches above the heart, harmlessly passing through the wisp's pink-and-purple vapor. The beautiful music stopped, and a growl rumbled in warning. Quickly, she transferred the rock from her left hand to her right and whirled it again at the glowing heart.

Dead-on.

A high-pitched screech wailed, and gray smoke shot out of the wisp's center. The rest of its glowing form collapsed upon itself, as if it had lost its skeletal base. Its shine dimmed and grew smaller, until it was about the size of a basketball. Would it retaliate? The need to run fueled her body, and her veins pulsed with adrenaline, but how could she run in this darkness?

“Follow me,” said a tiny voice from below.

Annie looked down, and floating only a few inches from the ground was a swirling ball of gray-yellow smoke.

“You have only a few minutes before either the wisp regenerates or other wisps hunt you down.”

Chills chased up and down her spine. “But how—”

The light wobbled in the air. “There's enough light that you can see a few feet ahead of you at a time. I'll take you down a path that leads to a paved road. Hurry!”

A faint rumble near the wounded wisp was all the encouragement she needed. Annie picked her way along the dirt path, frustrated with her slow pace.

“Hurry,” the light urged again.

“I can't go any faster.”

“Try.”

The light streaked ahead, and she quickened her step to keep up. “Don't leave me, you ungrateful little...” Annie bit her lip to stop the insulting words. It would be foolish to anger the tiny soul helping as best it could. Tombi was nowhere around, for damn sure. Some protection he turned out to be.

She plunged on, her focus on the small soul she'd rescued and the lucent beam it cast. Red clay, pine needles and twisted tree roots had never appeared so beautiful. Nothing mattered except continuing, one foot, then another, doing what was necessary for survival. Her breathing was labored and unnaturally loud, a roar in her ears.

“You're almost to the road,” the soul squeaked in its small voice. “You're on your own from there.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm crossing over.”

“You're entering the afterlife? Is that a good thing?”

“The best.”

At least one lovely incident occurred this evening. A soul's passage from Earth was a solemn, miraculous rite. “What's your name?” Annie asked.

“Not important. All that matters is that you make it home.”

The soul surged to Annie's eye level, the swirling ball of color changing from its original grayish yellow to a blazing orange.

Her feet hit pavement, and she wanted to weep with relief at the sight of the open road.

“Keep going,” the soul warned.

Panic returned. Annie looked up and down the road, but nothing appeared familiar. “At least tell me where I am.”

The light whooshed away at a dazzling speed, pitching her into sudden darkness. It was leaving her, after all she'd done, all she'd...

The soul returned. “Another mile ahead is the intersection of County Roads 82 and 40.”

Not far from home after all. “Thank you,” she said, exhaling deeply with relief.

“Go.” The soul slowly floated upward.

“Wait! I still can't see much without you.”

It kept floating until it became one with the night. “You could have at least said thank-you,” Annie complained, her face tilted skyward.

The grating metal noise sounded again from the edge of the woods. Annie took off on a brisk walk. There was a sliver of light from the moon now, but not much. It would be a miracle if she didn't trip and bash her head a dozen times on the blacktop surface before she even came to the four-way stop.

Damn Tombi. He should never have left her alone.

A captivating song unexpectedly entered her mind. One she'd never heard before. But how? This never happened unless she was near someone. And right now she was utterly alone. The song continued, like a balm easing soreness, a lullaby for frayed nerves. It wasn't the enchanting music of the wisps; this was more...relaxing and peaceful.

Annie's breath slowed while her feet continued their ceaseless march forward. If she had to run at some point, she would. She'd faced and defeated one wisp; she could do it again if needed.

“Thank you.” The words were a brushed whisper in her mind. The rescued soul hadn't abandoned her at all. It had come back and provided comfort for the long journey home.

It was one of the sweetest acts of kindness she'd ever experienced. Annie's throat tightened. “You're welcome,” she said aloud, past the aching lump.

The music played on. The sweet notes kept her steady, kept her from stumbling on legs burning with exhaustion. A side stitch smarted, like a surgeon's knife had sliced through half of her torso, and dehydration left her parched and with a headache. But the music kept playing until she'd arrived at her grandma's cottage. A long, cool glass of water, and she was falling into bed. A shower could wait.

* * *

Where the hell was Annie?

Tombi paced back and forth by the log where he'd last seen her.

“We've searched everywhere.” Chulah arrived with two others. “I checked in with all the hunters. No one has seen or heard her.”

“Keep looking,” he snapped. Worry racked his mind until he thought he would go mad. He'd said he'd protect Annie. And now she had vanished.

His fault.

He should never have left her alone. Not even for a shot at capturing Nalusa.

His brain froze in horror. Did Nalusa get to Annie?

For the hundredth time, Tombi walked around the log, hoping to track a smell or visual sign for a clue. He slowly tracked in ever-widening circles. This time, a faint sulfur odor, mixed with balsam fir, drifted up from the ground. Tombi knelt down and found a sprinkling of ash dusted on pine needles.

“Hey,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “We have burnout.”

Chulah knelt beside him, picked up a powdered needle and held it beneath his nose. “Happened well over an hour ago.”

“Has anyone else hunted in this area tonight?”

“I already told you—no. The girl must have done it.”

Tombi kept searching until he found two small, round rocks several feet nearby. The ones he'd given her for protection. “I shouldn't have left her side.”

“How were you supposed to know it was a trap?” Chulah asked. “You thought a band of wisps might encircle the two of you.”

“Better that than to leave her defenseless.”

“You left her the rocks, and she defended herself,” Chulah said, standing. “There's enough light now that it's possible she walked home. She's probably in bed asleep.”

His friend lied to reassure him. Tombi stood as well, dread slowing his movements. He'd promised to protect her. What if another wisp had heard the burnout when the soul was released and made its way to Annie, bent on retaliation? His gut clenched.

“Why are you so worried about that girl?” Chulah frowned. “One explanation is that she defended herself and got either bored or tired of waiting on you to return and went home.”

“
That
girl?” Tombi said, crossing his arms. “She's a woman, not a girl, and you know damn well she must be in trouble.” He remembered the press of her body against his, the warm feel of her skin against his own. Annie Matthews was a woman. A passionate woman.

Twigs snapped, and leaves crackled beneath a careless foot. Tallulah burst through the underbrush to his side. Her eyes were fierce and focused as she strode to where he and Chulah stood.

“We've wasted enough time searching for that foolish woman,” she snapped. “Let's get back to camp.”

“She's not foolish. Why the hostility? She's offered to help us.”

Tallulah tossed back her long hair and lifted her chin. “Because she's under Nalusa's influence. He sent her here to spy on us and make us mistrustful of each other. There's no traitor.”

His sister voiced his own misgivings, yet he found it increasingly difficult to believe the worst of Annie.

“Her grandmother is critically ill, maybe even dead, because she absorbed the poison Nalusa meant for me,” Tombi reminded them.

“And Annie could have set you up to be bitten,” Tallulah said. “Her grandmother might not have known what was going on. Why are you so blind?”

If she wasn't his sister, if he didn't know how grief-stricken she'd been after Bo's death, he wouldn't be able to control the temper heating his veins. “I've been leading this group for ten years. You've never questioned my judgment before.”

The fierceness in her eyes faded, and her shoulders slumped. “I don't want you to get hurt, Tom-Tom.”

She hadn't called him by that childhood name in years. His heart softened, remembering everything they'd been through together—the death of their parents and a new lifestyle with a host of duties thrust upon them at a young age. For spirit's sake, they'd only been nineteen when Hurricane Katrina had washed away the solid foundation of their world.

“Don't worry about me,” he said softly.

Chulah stepped in and placed an arm over Tallulah's shoulder. “Let's get back to camp and eat breakfast. We're all tired and hungry. You, too, Tombi.”

“Not until I find out what's happened to Annie. Go if you want, but I'm going to keep tracking.” He had to see her, had to know she was safe. The need to touch Annie, to hold her and apologize for leaving, was an ache deep in his soul.

* * *

Sleep was impossible.

Annie drank the tall glass of water she'd craved and collapsed on her bed, but an unease settled over her, a conviction that something bad had happened. She got up and went to the altar in the den, intent on lighting a candle to pray for Grandma Tia. A note from Miss Verbena had been propped on the mortar-and-pestle bowl, informing Annie that her grandmother had suffered a stroke.

A punch in the gut.

Sooner or later lack of sleep would catch up to her, but for now Annie was fueled with adrenaline and the need to check on her grandma. She showered, put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and drove to the Bayou La Siryna hospital.

To hell with that coerced promise to stay away.

Annie's resolution stayed strong until she walked down the long hallway of the critical-care unit. From every door she passed, she heard a funereal fugue with its long, melancholy strains, as gloomy as Baroque organ music. Worse were the open doors to rooms housing patients in intense pain. Their aural music was sharp as glass shards, slicing through her consciousness.
Deep breaths. One step at a time.
Only her love for Tia was worth suffering these symphonies of agony.

Room 3182. She'd made it.

Annie pushed the cool metal door open and entered. All was quiet. The sweet scent of violets triumphed over antiseptic's odor. Which meant Miss Verbena had recently been here, had been in vigil by the bed when
she
should have been the one doing so.

Tia's eyes were closed and her breathing steady, as if in peaceful slumber. As if her physical agonies were in a state of suspension.

Annie took her grandma's right hand in her own. Tia's fingers were cold and rough. Her grandma would hate that. She always said that if she were meant to tolerate the cold, she'd have been born a Yankee.

She found some lotion in the hospital toiletry bin and rubbed the balm into her grandma's cold flesh, pressing and kneading the rough skin, massaging in healing warmth. All Tia's flashy rings were gone. She looked bare without them, oddly lonely and vulnerable.

Tia's hands should be active—mixing potions, dealing tarot cards, lighting candles. Even saddled with a bad heart, her grandma would sit on the sofa in the evenings and read through old magic books, an index finger gliding down the page like a third eye, absorbing words. Or she would shuffle the cards and lay out spreads, searching for messages from the beyond.

Inside a metal locker was a blanket, and Annie tucked it over Tia's unmoving body, remembering all the times her grandma had tucked her in bed as a child. She'd never felt so loved nor as safe as when Grandma Tia chanted and hummed, asking for the saints' protection over “the young'un” while she slept. Tia would slide the sheets up to Annie's neck and pat her large, warm hands on Annie's slender shoulders, as if to seal in a prayer.