by L. L. Muir
With his eyes on everything but the floor, Jamison stumbled over something. A dusty movie script. The pages were still held together by brass brads.
“In there,” a Somerled gestured to a small room off to the left and Jamison’s feet added to a wide trail of footprints in the dust. Inside the room were two large metal doors that slid apart. It was an elevator. He stepped inside with his new escorts. The driver and front passenger from the van squeezed in with them.
The doors closed and his belly lurched when the metal box dropped fast. The three cleaner Somerleds didn't seem to notice. But as he descended into what might be Hell itself, he had one happy thought to hang onto. An image that could keep his spirits up for a good long while.
The image of his Skye smiling back at him from within the eyes of Skye Geddes.
~ ~ ~
Skye drove to a park and looked for a parking spot that wasn't easily seen from the road. It was the first time she’d ever wished she’d bought a nice boring white car instead of the more unusual green—it was probably pretty easy to follow.
She turned off her engine to conserve gas, then locked her doors and headed for the shade trees. With the way her day had been going, she was nervous about leaving her only means of escape, but her Corolla was also her bedroom and she always tried to get out and stretch her legs as much as she could to stay sane.
Besides, the park was full of parents and their kids playing at the brightly colored splash pad. No one was dressed all in white. No lurkers. No one sleeping on the benches or digging through garbage cans. And in Michael’s part of town, it looked like folks dressed up to play on the swings. Anyone creepy would stand out like a sore thumb.
Henderson was a pretty mild town considering how close it was to Vegas. And if she set aside the crazy things that had happened earlier, this park was a relatively safe place to pass the time. There was a walking path, so she jogged around it a few times before she lowered herself onto the shade of the first tree to stretch. She was about fifty feet from her car. She figured that was close enough.
A little girl squealed down a yellow slide and cried when she landed on her butt. Laughter. Shouting. More laughter. More squealing when someone started the fountain all over again and a few kids were caught off guard.
Such normal sounds. Soothing sounds. Even the traffic on the other side of the park helped her pretend it was just a rare Saturday off. What she wouldn’t give for an hour or two of mindless TV.
She leaned back against the tree trunk and thanked God no one knew where she was. It was too bad God couldn’t make six weeks pass before the sun went down. But then again, if she did nothing for six weeks, Blair the Creep will have spent all her money.
And what about the blond guy? If she laid low for six weeks, what would those freaks do to him? He was fast on his feet, smooth even. Maybe he'd already found a way to escape them.
Or maybe he was already dead.
She shook her head frantically. No. She wouldn't believe it. Not from Somerleds. Even if they had a few bad apples, they couldn't be that bad, could they?
Now that the river of adrenaline had slowed to a dribble, she was able to think clearly. Finding a place to hide wasn’t important. Finding and helping that Jamison guy was. And once she got him out of trouble, maybe he’d be willing to help her confront Blair. She didn’t stand a chance against The Creep on her own, but maybe with a big strong guy at her side, the man would be intimidated. And by the time Blair called the cops, she’d be long gone.
But where did she start?
She had no leads at all. He'd been taken by Somerleds. That was it. She had no idea who he was, or where he was from—
Except, thanks to that Somerled greeting him in the van, she knew his name. And if he was related to her ghost, he might have already intended to help her. Too bad the ghost wasn’t popping around to fill in the details. She’d just have to do without his ominous, vague advice. Maybe, in the morning, she could find some Somerleds and get another lead.
A black car pulled into the parking lot and backed into a space. Skye waited, but no one got out. There were a few teenaged boys playing basketball. Another group of people over in the baseball diamond, but there was no telling who the driver was waiting for. She only hoped it wasn't her.
She looked back at the car. Empty. Had someone climbed out in the few seconds she’d glanced around the park?
There was no one new at the splash pad.
Either someone was hunching down behind the steering wheel, or the driver had vanished into thin air. Though she racked her brain for another explanation, she couldn't think of any. Was she just too wiped out to think?
It didn't really matter. There was no way she could relax if there was any chance someone had followed her. Those rogue Somerleds had found her around the block from the café and claimed they were trying to help her. Had they been watching her, or watching Jamison? Or had they been watching her because she’d been the bait to lure him out?
If they hadn’t forced her into the van along with Jamison, then they hadn’t been interested in her. So why still follow her? And how had they found her? From tracking her phone?
Damnit! She just wished someone would explain to her what was going on.
She stood, brushed a few grass clippings from her legs and headed to her car. Though she didn't look directly at the black vehicle, she was completely aware of it at the edge of her vision. An engine turned over, but it might have been any one of twenty.
She unlocked her car and slid inside, then locked the doors again and ignored the warm air while she pulled out her phone and took a good look at it. She wasn't expecting a little sticker that confirmed it could be traced, but it would have been nice. Would it help if she simply took the battery out?
Without a job and a work schedule that might change at any moment, she really had no need for the phone, other than the fact that she needed the internet from time to time. Or to call a cop, which she couldn’t do without getting herself in trouble. So she could do without it.
It was prepaid. There were no bills, no account info or statements to be mailed to the Blairs. Michael was her only emergency go-to guy. All she really needed to do was keep his number, which she had memorized.
How very sad. One number.
Then she remembered about emails from teachers. She needed to be able to read them. No way was she going to mess up graduating this close to the end. But when she went to school on Monday, someone would know where she was again.
If it was life or death? Did graduation matter?
Well, yeah, it did. Because, without graduation, there was no life.
She tried to tell herself she was just being paranoid. But then she considered everything that had happened that day, all the way back to her old ghost, and she decided she’d be an idiot not to be.
So, in true paranoid fashion, she popped the battery out of her phone and stashed it in the ash tray. She dropped her phone in the glove box and locked it. Then she started the engine. She was back to square one—needing a safe place to park and sleep. Jamison was just going to have to fend for himself until tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jamison braced his feet apart and kept his knees unlocked, anticipating a rough stop, but the elevator slowed gradually. The doors opened and the two from the van stepped out and to the side. One of the others prodded Jamison from behind and he walked out into a large lobby. He paused, but was prodded again to the left and into a long wide hallway that curved to the right, and kept curving, for what might have been a quarter of a mile.
He'd witnessed some pretty amazing things in the last seven months, like crop circles, his girlfriend getting blown to smithereens while suspended above him, having his mind read—by more than one person now—and seeing the ghost of his dead grandfather lecturing him in the middle of the night. So he was surprised he could still be surprised. And what surprised him was how much work had been done to create an intricate little world so far below ground.
This wasn’t just off the grid, it wasn’t even near the grid. They may as well have been on another planet, which he could have believed if they’d blindfolded him up to that point. The layers of red and gold in the stone hallway looked like something he’d expect on Saturn or something. Or maybe the caves of Southern Utah.
The hall ended with double doors. A hand to his shoulder told him to stay put. The two from the van went through one of the doors and it shut behind them before Jamison got a glimpse of what might lie beyond it.
There were only three of them now. Could he take them all on? Get back in the elevator and back up to the surface before anyone stopped him?
“Uh, uh,” said the guy behind his left shoulder. “No buttons on the elevator, friend. Besides, your hands are still tied, remember?”
Jamison grunted. “I'm so tired of you guys reading my thoughts. Is it something you all do? Or just the obnoxious ones?”
“Only a few. And all of them are the elite—” He was cut off, either by a sharp look from one of the others, or by his own realization that he was giving away company secrets.
Sage brush. White lines. Black top. Sage brush, White lines. Black top.
Jamison tried to keep every other thought out of his head.
The doors opened. The two Somerleds stood back and held them open for others.
A taller, older Somerled came out into the hall, stepped aside, and waited. He looked about 35. Dark hair. Expressionless black eyes. His robes were those of a Somerled, but there was something off about him, like there’d been something off about the farm. He made the hairs stand up on the back of Jamison’s neck.
A woman stepped out next.
A woman. No Somerled robes. Not an angel, then. And yet, it had to be the Gabriella, the woman he’d come to save Skye from. The others took half a step back from her. No one spoke. This was the woman in charge, the woman who had Somerleds in Colorado shaking in their boots. But no one had been willing to tell him why.
Her hair was a rich brown. Her face had lines, but she could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty. Just…ageless. Her cape of peacock feathers had a royal blue collar that fanned up and out, standing higher than her head in the back. Around the base of the collar was a wide necklace of brilliant feathers. Peacock, and maybe pheasant. Or maybe they were from birds he'd never seen before. Bright rust and green feathers with white on the tips.
Beneath the cape, her matching dress sparkled with thousands of crystals. Her eye shadow matched too. Was she trying to look like a bird? Or was she part of some Vegas show? And if so, why would she be in costume so far from The Strip?
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she wasn’t Gabriella at all. The woman he was expecting was a Somerled, wasn't she? And somehow he’d never imagined the dangerous woman to be sexy.
The dark one's head snapped in Jamison's direction and he realized the man must have read his mind, confirming he was a true Somerled. But how could he get away with working for a mortal woman?
Sage brush. White lines. Black top.
“He knows your name,” he told the woman without taking his eyes from Jamison. “And he tries to hide his thoughts.”
“Interesting.” The woman looked Jamison up and down and seemed pleased for some reason. She looked him in the eye. “I was hoping they'd brought me the girl, of course, but we would have had to come looking for you eventually.”
Jamison tried to stay calm. “What do you want with her?”
She smirked. “Surely someone told you.” She dipped her head, looked into his eyes. “Let me guess.” She leaned close again and sniffed at his shoulder. “Love guided you to Nevada?”
He kept his face blank.
She laughed lightly. “You’ve come from Colorado. Sent by Lanny herself.”
Jamison’s jaw clenched. She reached up and stroked it, to let him know she’d noticed. He suppressed a shiver.
“Lanny might not have told you anything at all, I suppose. She so enjoys watching humans stumble around in the dark.”
He’d thought the same thing all the way to Henderson. He didn’t like having anything in common with Gabriella, but there was a chance it would work in his favor.
He tilted his head and smiled. “Yeah. She’s a bitch. So why don’t you tell me. Why are you a danger to Skye?”
She smiled coyly. “Well, I suppose if I put it in a nutshell, I…” She leaned close to his ear and whispered. “…collect Somerleds. Save them from Lanny and the rest of the Primaries. And our little Skye is a Somerled, isn’t she? I’ve got a nice little spot on my shelf I’ve been saving just for her.” She stepped and watched for his reaction.
Since it might be his only chance for an explanation, he pressed her. “Collect them for what? Save them from what?”
Still smiling, Gabriella shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Jamison. Jamison. You have no imagination.”
“Trust me,” he said. “I’ve been imagining all kinds of things.”
She seemed to like that a little too much. She moved closer and closer until her body was pressed against him. His body reacted to the friction, and to her expensive perfume, but not to her. She seemed to sense the same and pressed a little harder. She placed her hands on his shoulders and her thumbs stroked along his collar bones. She didn't have to stretch to look him straight in the eye. Her smiled tugged up on one side and she leaned close like she was going to kiss him.
He gave a light snort and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t retreat.
When she laughed, her breath was minty.
Toothpaste. She's only mortal.
Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “What is he thinking, Pilot?”
The dark one showed no emotion. “He is relieved, believing you are mortal. A weaker foe, he thinks.”
“Mortal?” She laughed and stepped back. “Oh, Jamison. You keep thinking that. Maybe it will give you comfort, where I'm sending you.”
~ ~ ~
Jamison’s three guards led him back to the elevator and then into a stairwell carved in the stone wall beside it. He could see a pattern in the grooves from the machine that made the hole.
A machine. Not some magic wand. Not some parting of the sea. Everything done here was done by mortals, or angels with really cool tools. There was nothing human about the way they read his mind, but the rest was nothing to fear.
Back in Colorado, he'd been freaked out by Lucas' ability to read his mind and reach inside it to steal away his memories. And if he hadn't made a recording one night, in his paranoia, he wouldn't be shuffling down a stairwell somewhere under the Nevada mountains. He never would have remembered the event in the crop circle. He probably wouldn’t have found his soul connected to that of the pretty girl next door in the strange white clothes.
He would be happy and ignorant. But that wasn’t the kind of happy he’d wanted.
And he never would have held Skye captive in his grandfather's tree house until she confessed what she was. He'd thought she was a monster at the time. Then he'd realized he was the monster. But he hadn’t really understood what a real monster was, until now. And if he was lucky, Skye would get far away before she ever found out.
It seemed like a lifetime ago when Lanny had given Skye her two choices, neither of which included a life with Jamison—just continue on as a Somerled, or become mortal somewhere Jamison could never find her.
He'd been given a precious twelve hours with her, and on a blanket under the stars, they'd faced the truth together. In the end, he'd promised to have his memories of her taken away so she wouldn't worry about him grieving for her. He’d been lying, but it was comfort enough to get her to take the option to be born, to have a chance to have a happy life.
And now Gabriella wanted to steal that chance from her.
But if Jamison had accomplished nothing else, at least he’d scared the crap out of Skye and she’d be long gone. And if he never found her again, he could survive, knowing she was safe from the psycho in blue.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
/> Skye drove around Henderson until she was sure no one tailed her. Screw the gas. She figured she might not survive long enough to get out of town anyway.
She hopped on and off the interstate, on and off the highway, but no cars did the same, black or otherwise.
An old church building south of town, where she’d once gone to paint, would be the perfect sanctuary. The parking lot was to the side and behind. And though people would be attending Sunday meetings there the next day, she figured it would be safe to hide there for the night.
It ate up even more gas to get there, but she felt safer and safer the farther she drove down the long, sparsely populated road, like she was leaving her troubles behind her in town. And more importantly, she felt a sudden peace when she pulled into the parking lot. After the day she’d just had, peace was an amazing thing to feel.
The place was deserted, as she’d hoped.
Since she’d stopped at a gas station and used the restroom, there was no need to squat in the field out back. So she parked the car and started her nightly ritual. She found tears in her eyes when she pushed the rear sun visor into place and settled in for the night, even though it wasn’t yet dark. So much drama in one day had taken its toll, and now that she was safe, and she could take down her brave façade, it all caught up with her.
She just needed to sleep. Whatever tomorrow had in store for her, she could handle it, as long as she got some sleep.
She checked all the door locks individually and stowed all the garbage in the sack hanging from the gear shift. From the duffle bag, she pulled out the dirty gold and red uniform, stuffed it in her white laundry bag, and replaced it with a clean outfit for the next day.
A second-hand store might give her a few bucks for a clean uniform, and she needed to be even more frugal than she’d been since she’d run away. And maybe she’d be able to zip into the church’s bathroom for a sponge bath after their meeting began in the morning.
