Stolen Sight (AIR Book 3)

by Amanda Booloodian

  "There were others there that could have done that job, and what the hell was wrong with your partners? Rider didn't look like he planned to help at all until after the second strike. Logan seemed madder at Vincent than anything else, and Vincent was the only one that acted like he gave a damn."

  "Are you kidding me with this?" I asked, lowering my voice. "This is my job and how dare you judge my partners. Rider knows I can handle myself and I knew he would help when I needed it. If Logan was mad at Vincent, you could bet Vincent was doing something out of line."

  "It's not—"

  "Shut up," I snapped. "Like it or not this is my job, and believe it or not, a woman can take care of herself. Don't ever, ever expect me to stand out of the way and let someone else get hurt. It's not going to happen."

  "Cass," Vincent said behind me.

  "What?" I asked, turning my frustration in his direction.

  "I need to talk with you. Let me walk you to your car."

  I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

  It felt like my aggravation was the only thing keeping me on my feet as I stalked off to my car.

  Vincent walked with me, but didn't say anything until we were far enough away that Ethan couldn't overhear.

  "Are you alright?" Vincent asked.

  "Don't you start too."

  "I think you need to give him a break."

  "What?" The words tempered my frustration with confusion. I never thought I'd hear something like that from Vincent.

  "He was scared. That's all."

  "You didn't hear what he said," I mumbled.

  "I didn't have to. I've been there. He was scared and upset with himself for letting it happen."

  "Letting it happen?"

  "You know what I mean. Not reacting fast enough. Not being able to help."

  "Is that what he said?" I asked.

  "He didn't have to."

  "Why are you taking his side?"

  "We're not teenagers, Cass. There are no sides here. I'm sure he said something stupid, but from the way he talked, this was the second time in two days he could have been seeing you dead on the ground."

  That took the wind from my sails and I slumped against my car.

  "You didn't tell me about yesterday," Vincent said.

  "It was a non-event."

  "I'm pretty sure he doesn't see it that way.”

  "How do you know so much about what he's thinking?"

  Vincent shook his head. "He wasn't the only one thinking them."

  "That's not my fault." I crossed my arms, but couldn't muster up a glare.

  "It's not," Vincent agreed. "I'm only suggesting that you take a step back and look at things from his point of view."

  "The way he talks, his point of view is that I can't take care of myself."

  "It's not that you can't take care of yourself. It's that you shouldn't be pushed into situations where you have to defend yourself. None of us should. But when you watch someone close to you being put through those things, you don't always have the best reactions."

  "Why are you making so much sense? And why are you sticking up for Ethan."

  There was the slightest tightening to Vincent's eyes. "The only person I'm looking out for here is you."

  Chapter 11

  After Vincent walked off, I momentarily thought of apologizing to Ethan. My mind was too muddled from fatigue to make that decision. There was more than a little chance that I wouldn't make it that far without falling anyway. With knots in my stomach, I looked over the site before I steered the car towards home. It was barely past noon and I was already planning on going to bed. After getting food that is. The faster the better.

  Sometimes being a Reader sucked. Luckily, Logan had Vincent and Rider to help him out.

  By the time I reached the driveway, I had already eaten my drive-thru lunch. When I entered the house, I had a twinge of uncertainty. After this morning, being home alone, not knowing what may be invisible and waiting for me, made me uncomfortable. Still, my bed called. The slow trek upstairs yielded no surprises. The only conscious decision I made was to turn on my alarm to ensure I had enough time to get ready for my date. Assuming I still had one.

  When I woke up, I had fading memories of nightmares of being trapped underground. Even with the dreams, though, I felt renewed. Nothing like a little rest to fix all the woes of being too active at reading.

  The enormity of this morning's workout had settled in. Before taking a shower, I had to take some more ibuprofen to soothe the muscles that had tightened considerably. When I was in the shower, I finally noticed a tapestry of bruises. I had it in mind to wear a dress, since I only rarely had the occasion to put one on. The thought of explaining the bruises to Ethan, especially after our earlier conversation, made me decide on slacks.

  Once I got dressed, I made a large pot of coffee and waited. I watched the clock tick through the minutes, my stomach twisting a little tighter as each moment fled by.

  As I sat there, I second guessed my outfit, my hair, and whether or not to pack my gun. Since this was a date, I decided to forgo the gun, and I checked the bathroom mirror twice more. When six-thirty came and went, I considered calling, but I decided to wait it out. At six-forty, my fingers tapped on the table and my twisting insides started to sink while I stared at the clock. At six-forty-five, I got up, dumped out my coffee, and grabbed my tablet, ready to throw myself back into work.

  The doorbell rang before the tablet booted up.

  I blew out a sigh, not sure if it was relief or anxiety, and I answered the door.

  Ethan stood there, looking almost as nervous as I felt.

  "Hi, um, I wasn't sure if I should..." Ethan stammered.

  I smiled. "I'm glad you're here."

  "Sorry I'm late. I got held up. We can still make dinner and the park, though."

  I snatched up my purse and we went into town.

  "How are you feeling?" Ethan asked.

  "Better than this afternoon," I admitted. "I'm sorry for...well, everything."

  He shook his head. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said what I did. I wasn't thinking."

  "You were worried. I get that."

  Ethan's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Your partner didn't look too happy with me after you left."

  "Vincent?"

  "Yeah."

  "Hm, I'm pretty sure that was aimed at me. He told me not to get upset with you."

  "Vincent said that?"

  "Yeah."

  "I wouldn't have expected that."

  "I reacted badly," I said.

  "You looked...I mean, until you walked over, I thought..."

  I shifted, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "I'm okay."

  "The way that guy came after you. I thought...well, I'm glad you weren't hurt."

  He didn't actually come after me so much as I got in his way, but I wanted the subject to end. "I'm good. So, where are we going for dinner?"

  It wasn't subtle, but it got the subject changed.

  We weren't particularly talkative during dinner, but once we joined the crowds at University Park, we began to loosen up. At least I did.

  "My mom talked about this when I was younger. I've always liked the idea of this festival," I said.

  Lights were strung up all around the park. Christmas tree lights, lights focused on the artwork, lights under tents, and scattered here and there throughout the front side of the park. The scene looked like it should have been on a postcard.

  "I don't remember if this event was around when I was a kid. Once I moved away, we didn't have anything like it. Not for art anyway. The three small towns in the area where I lived probably had less than a thousand people. We had carnivals and county fairs. Veterans Day was a big deal. The whole town would get together, and flags were set up all around. One year, families bought flags for each of the veterans in their family. The city bought them for those that didn't make it back home. We had well over a hundred flags flying."

  "That w
ould have been something to see," I said, imagining all those flags for such a small community.

  "It really was. I love to see this, though. I have a friend who's an artist."

  The sun started to fall below the horizon. Kids were running around, vendors were set up, selling drinks, cotton candy, and popcorn. While holding hands Ethan and I strolled down alleys of artwork that crisscrossed through the park. We'd stop and look at pieces that caught our eye. The artists were on hand to talk about their work.

  We were going to walk to another area of the park where more work was set up, but Ethan wanted to go back and talk to one of the artists again. I told him I was going to get a drink and we parted ways, planning to meet back before going to the next group of artists.

  After buying my drink, I stood and enjoyed people watching. Everyone from well-dressed politicians to stoned-looking college students were here. The artwork always drew a crowd.

  The noise of the people began to fade. Frowning, I looked around. There seemed to be the same amount of people, maybe fewer kids since it was after nine, but the sound was muted, as though everything was moving farther away. It wasn't until the people began to slow that I started to worry.

  It wasn't my hearing. Or if it was, it was my sight as well. My heart raced. This kind of thing happened when a piece of soul took over. Well, when a particular fragment took over. But in those instances it was me moving faster, not everyone else moving slower.

  Panicking, I looked around, trying to find Ethan through the ever-slowing crowd. I was me. I'm sure I was me. Still, I probed around inside of my mind in an attempt to reassure myself that my soul was in charge.

  "You are very much you," the voice sang out over the silent masses.

  I jumped and spun around. My heart beat furiously. Dread fell over me when I saw an old man move through the people.

  A blur appeared to the left, but when I glanced over, there was nothing. The man was much closer when I looked back. My hands started to shake and I backed up a few steps. I kept the man in sight while I tried to look around. Flickers of shadows moved through the still crowd. The people were almost at a standstill, but other vaguely human shapes flashed, moving too quickly for me to make out what they were.

  Each time my eyes strayed away, the old man seemed to jump forward, coming closer to me than he should have been able to travel. I stopped focusing on the shadows and concentrated on him.

  "Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. I'd like to say I was successful, but that would have been too big of a lie.

  "I am very much me." The old man chuckled, and I felt the hair raise on the back of my neck.

  It wasn't the first time I had heard those words from someone. "You're not the same man that I met this spring in the woods," I said.

  "No, no. That is him."

  He was close enough to see the deep wrinkles in his skin and the texture of his long, white, wispy hair. It was his eyes that drew the most attention. They were the clearest blue I had ever seen, and despite his apparent age, they appeared sharp. It was hard to imagine that they would miss anything.

  Without closing my eyes or looking away from the man, I drew open the Path, stretching my mind to plunge into the flow. Brilliant, pure white light blinded me and the Path snapped away. Pain slashed through my head leaving the feeling that I had been stabbed by an ice pick.

  Clutching my head, my eyes scrunched up against the pain.

  When I opened them, the man was practically nose-to-nose with me.

  "Ah." My short, sharp scream was involuntary, and I stumbled back, somehow managing to stay on my feet.

  The old man wheezed out what sounded like a laugh. "He is not me." He paused to catch his breath and laugh some more. "But there is still no peeking."

  My heart beat so fast that I could hear my blood pumping through my head. Out of the corners of my eyes, I could see the flit of unknown beings moving closer.

  "Who are you? What do you want?"

  "What we want is also what you want." He cocked his head this way and that while peering at me with unblinking eyes. "At least for now."

  "Who's we?"

  "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Wrong questions."

  The fear was starting to lean towards anger. Anger I could work with.

  "Fine. An awful lot is going on right now. What is it that ‘we’ want?" I added as much snark to the question as I could manage.

  He chuckled and began to pace back and forth in front of me. "Something is here. It should not be."

  "That's not narrowing it down much," I said, crossing my arms. "Do you mean one of the Lost?"

  "Lost? The Lost are not lost. They belong. The thing that is here was made. It does not belong."

  "Made?" I'm not sure if I was really confused, or if the fear and anger were clouding my thinking.

  "Yes, and you will remove it."

  "Me? Why don't you all remove it? You've stopped time—"

  The man let out a cackle of laughter.

  It did nothing for my temper. "You, and whoever the rest of you are, can take care of it."

  "Perhaps yes, perhaps no," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "First, we will see if you can take care of it. It will...relate to you."

  "And if I don't take care of it?"

  The man stopped pacing and glared at me. Any trace of humor died from his face. Pressure built in the area, the hair on my arms stood up, and I took a step back.

  Then the man shrugged and the pressure died away. "Others will die. It will relate to you, so if you do not act, you will die as well."

  Although the pain in my head was fading, I was having a hard time following what the man said. "Others will die? No one is killing the Lost."

  "They are not the target. Not for death."

  Thoughts of the man with his bones ripped out at the construction site lurched forward. I had to bury them or risk losing my dinner.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "It is made. And it is here." The old man gave another gesture.

  I turned and saw the path that wound away from the festival. "It's—"

  The noise rushed back. It's funny how I didn't notice the deafening silence until the roaring of the festival returned full force.

  People were moving as if nothing had happened. Frantically, I looked around for signs of the man, the shadows, or something that might be coming or going from the park where the old man had gestured. I almost tripped over my own feet trying to look everywhere at once.

  "Would you like for me to call someone for you?"

  I whirled around to see Zander standing behind me.

  "Good Lord," I muttered. Could my day get any worse? "What do you want?"

  "I'm concerned," he said.

  I gave him my best, 'what the hell are you talking about' look and started scanning the crowds again.

  "You're obviously in distress. I think I should call someone for you," Zander said.

  A woman was standing not too far away, glaring at either Zander or me. Possibly both of us.

  "What are you talking about, Zander?" I asked.

  "Cassie, you went from looking entirely peaceful one moment to upset the next, without anything in between. I—"

  "Why are you watching me?" I snapped, turning my full attention to him.

  "I wasn't...I was only..." He very calmly stopped when his voice became edgy. When he spoke again, it was in a calm, controlled way. "I'm going—"

  "I'm busy, Zander. Take your concern along with your psych degree and turn it towards your date."

  "I don't think you should be around this many people when you are upset."

  "What does that mean?" I asked, taking a step towards Zander.

  He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

  I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

  "Just call the police," the woman behind Zander snapped.

  "We just need to let her know that there are people who care," Zander said in his mellow voice.

  That voice pissed
me off. "You can take your 'I care' crap and—"

  "Is there a problem here?" Ethan asked frowning at Zander.

  Mortified by the fact that Ethan might have overheard, I could feel my face turn red.

  "No," the woman behind Zander snapped. "Call the police and let's go, Zander. She's not our problem." The woman tugged on Zander’s arm.

  Ethan crossed his arms and looked at the two with a puzzled expression. "What are you accusing her of?"

  "Existing," I said, trying to tune them out and look around some more.

  "Being crazy," the woman countered.

  Zander held up his hands again. "We aren't accusing her of anything. We only want to ensure that she gets help."

  "You look familiar," Ethan said to Zander.

  Zander put on a pompous little smile. "I get that a lot. I'm a psychologist here in town."

  "That's right. You were harassing her at the station a few months ago." Ethan started to look agitated.

  The hair on my arms stood on end and the pressure built once more in the area.

  Zander’s date glared at him and his smile fell away. "I was not harassing her."

  There was no sign of the old man, but when I looked at the path he had indicated, someone moved out of sight.

  "By the way, I'm Lieutenant Ethan Parker." Ethan's eyes bored into Zander's.

  Zander appeared unfazed.

  "Ethan," I said urgently, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk the old man had indicated. "I think we might have a more urgent situation." I didn't bother giving any other explanation, and walked off.

  "You shouldn't support her delusions," Zander said. He sounded sad, which only ticked me off more.

  While I took out my phone to call Logan, I heard Ethan say, "Take my word for it, continued harassment won't be tolerated."

  Chapter 12

  Logan picked up on the first ring. "Howdy."

  "Ethan and I are at University Park, moving towards the campus."

  I heard Ethan behind me as I rounded a corner and disappeared from view of the festival. With lights shining yards away, the trees and bushes cast dark shadows across the walkway.

  "What are we looking at?" Logan asked.