“You scared me. I thought something was wrong.” Seeley’s relief trailed out on a sigh. “Father James is meeting us at the airport. I know it’s too late to rescind my offer, but I shouldn’t have asked Declan to travel to Sherando. It might get dicey.”
“Hmmm . . .” Jordan hemmed.
“You had a dream, didn’t you?” Even through the phone, her mom must’ve heard the ambiguity in her tone.
“Ahh, it’s probably nothing.” Jordan prayed her fib was correct. “Just freaked me out a little.” Even if she explained her vision, it wouldn’t prevent Seeley from completing her mission.
“I wish Declan and I would’ve stayed in Elma last night instead of coming to his apartment in the city. Then we could have talked this over.”
“When do you get into Sherando?”
“A couple of hours.” Seeley yawned. “Father James’s friend, Father Mortimer, is supposed to be picking us up.”
“Call me as soon as possible. Let me know how it’s going.” She hadn’t meant to sound edgy. Unsettling her mother wasn’t what she’d intended.
“Now you’re freaking me out.”
Jordan heard Declan’s voice in the background, telling Seeley the taxi was waiting.
“I’ll call you when we land. Go back to sleep.” Jordan watched the light on her cell phone go dark. Then a whiteness drew her gaze to the window. She’d been yearning for her guardian angel, Markus, to make a much-needed appearance, but it was only the pale chintz curtains moving on a soft breeze. Disappointed, she sighed, and inhaled the sweet perfume of her grandmother’s gardens.
Not knowing how to decipher the recurring dream, she should’ve sought Father James’s spiritual advice. And after tonight, she was more than convinced it was an important vision, though, it had changed. I willed it to change. Was it possible to alter circumstances in her visions? Why is Mom rocking a demon baby? She shivered.
“Markus?” she called quietly, seeking her guardian angel and the one person to remedy her agitation. “Please, Markus, I need to talk to you.” She slid her legs off the mattress and pressed her bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. “I know you’re here, somewhere, and I don’t understand why you’re not making yourself visible.” She checked the room for an angelic spark. “Fine. Be that way.”
Tumbling back onto the mattress in a huff, she tunneled beneath the lightweight quilt. It was an infinite night of eye twitching, tossing, pummeling the pillow, and then staring at the dusky ceiling. In sleepless frustration, she viewed dawn’s light diminish the encompassing shadows. Snoozing was now out of the question. A morning jog should clear her head.
Lately, without Seeley or Markus to join her workouts, she’d begun a ritual of jogging along the perimeter of the woodland, down Valley Road, up and over the creek, and rounding for home by cutting through the forest. She enjoyed the obscurity of being out of sight of traffic and local classmates. The last thing she wanted was anyone seeing her panting and puffing, looking like a total sweat ball. Besides clearing the cobwebs, the ten-mile run righted her balance, especially when it came to hurdling fallen logs or dodging stumps and gorse brambles in full trot.
The morning commenced like any other, except for the time. Four thirty-five, and even the birds were still dozing. She sucked in the dewy air and reveled at feeling secluded from an awakening world. Her eyes adjusted easily to the murkiness as she executed a long jump over the creek.
“Yes,” she said to herself. She’d made it over the swollen creek bed without incident. Usually, she got a case of wet foot. Approximately two more miles, and she’d arrive in her backyard.
A flock of birds twittered, either annoyed by her or gleeful for the break of day. Jogging through the dense woods, the sound of her raspy breaths and pounding heart was foremost in her ears. She swiped the moisture dripping into her eyes as her long ponytail swished from shoulder to shoulder.
Reflecting on the training she’d received from her guardian angel, she strived to run as noiselessly as possible. When stalking demons, it was beneficial to be light, fast, and silent. Then she heard a loud crack. She’d stomped on a decaying branch.
The resonating sound instigated her frown, and like a disobedient child, Jordan kicked the twig for good measure. “Markus, it’s not feasible.”
Up ahead was pitch black. An arch created by verdant trees refused admittance to the morning light. Acquainted with the terrain, she ran on.
No longer did she hear the rushing pump of blood in her ears, but a minute droning. Words trying to articulate and form a semblance of meaning baffled her. She decelerated, her legs burned after the long haul. Suddenly, a flash the magnitude of a strobe light knocked her off balance.
“Help!”
The interior verbalization shattered her eardrums, and Jordan dropped like a puppet with its strings severed. Again, she heard the inflection of her mom’s familiar voice.
“Help us!”
Breathing shallow, she scanned the thicket. Five yards ahead, she envisaged transparent waves, like shimmering heat on a blacktopped road. Within the airwaves, an image appeared, an exact replica of Father James kneeling, his spirit-like figure fading in and out.
His lips moved. “Join. Spiritually. Time. Running out.”
The words pitched in and out of her ears as if he was speaking through a dysfunctional megaphone. “Weaken enchantments . . .”
Wickedly They Come (The Wickedly Series Book 1) Page 26
