I could feel nothing.
Well, nothing in a preternatural sense, anyway. On a physical level it was a different story, even though travel weariness had managed to numb me a bit in that arena too. While I certainly realized that exhaustion took a major toll, in the past it had never seemed to make any difference where the ethereal was concerned. If anything, it served to heighten my sensitivity to it by lowering my defenses. So, no matter what, I always felt something.
Always.
It was just an accepted part of my existence. Evil would seek me out, and I would always know it was there. Why? Because without fail, I would be able to feel it… But, right now, even while holding it in the palm of my hand, I could feel nothing.
I twisted the small bottle in my fingers, spinning it slowly while I watched the white crystals cascade across one another like sand trickling into the bottom of an hourglass. With each turn, as the necklace inside tumbled, a shiny flash of its metal surface would peek through and then almost instantly disappear once again beneath the grains of salt.
Ben had been waiting for us on the opposite side of the security gate at Concourse C, and the very first thing he had done was shove the bottle containing the cursed jewelry into my hand-before he even uttered a single word of greeting in fact. I could tell by the look on his face that he was three steps beyond mere relief just to be rid of it. Apparently, my reassurances that he was safe from its effects hadn’t been enough to allay his fears.
My concentration was broken by an alarm sounding nearby, so I looked up from the distraction in my hands. The attention light over the baggage chute winked several times, and the delivery belt began to move. Seconds later an unseen motor began humming, and the metal slats of the time worn carousel itself jerked hesitantly. Once they shuddered and began sliding around the elongated oval, their unsynchronized rattling was punctuated by tinny scrapes as they proceeded to accordion in and out of one another around the semicircular ends. A full sixty seconds passed before the first suitcase finally appeared at the top of the conveyor; then, with a clunk, followed by a swoosh of nylon against metal, it toppled from the edge and slid onto the rotating carousel, ending with a dull thud against the lip at the bottom. A moment later it was followed by another and then another.
However, thus far none of the luggage riding the horseless merry-go-round belonged to me.
I glanced over to the status board and saw that our flight number was still listed, which ostensibly meant our carousel hadn’t been switched while we weren’t paying attention. Then I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost midnight. Whether by mere suggestion, from the exhaustion, or a combination of both, I yawned.
We’d been on the ground now for better than thirty minutes, and the information on the lighted board had already been announcing the arrival of our luggage on this particular carousel for the last fifteen of them. The delay was par for the course in my experience, even at this late hour with the airport approaching deserted, save for overnight staff and the small clutch of passengers milling around this particular baggage claim. Still, typical or not, I couldn’t say I was overly excited about the wait-not that I could do anything to change it, of course.
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand. Wherever I wasn’t numb, I ached from the tension of the day. Still, I was feeling much better than I had been earlier. At least now I was back in Saint Louis and no longer sitting 700 plus miles away at DFW with a standby ticket in my hand, a crowd of confirmed passengers ahead of me, and an attack of anxiety so intense that it had me either calling or text messaging Felicity every half hour. Now, even as tired as I was, the drudgery of waiting for my luggage seemed almost normal in a sense, which was something I knew I should find comforting. But, right now normal was anything but. In fact, it was more along the lines of disconcerting.
“That one yours, Row?” Ben asked, thumping my arm hard with the back of his hand in order to get my attention.
I shot a glance toward where he was pointing and saw a dark green suitcase rumbling my direction on the slanted metal plates.
I shook my head. “It’s close, but mine’s just a little smaller than that and should have a laminated tag on the top handle.”
“Yeah, I thought so,” Ben grunted. “Just wanted ta’ be sure.”
“All good. Thanks.”
“Well, there’s mine,” Constance said as a roll-around skidded down and then toppled onto its side and began moving our way. Her voice was a quiet drone as she slowly started forward to retrieve it.
“Relax, hon. I got it,” Ben said as he stepped past her and quickly reached in with a long arm to scoop it up. Setting the luggage to the side and extending the pull handle up, he slipped his free arm gently around the petite federal agent’s shoulders while we continued to wait. She leaned into him and let out a long, weary sigh.
My friend looked like he was probably just as tired as Constance and I both were. His angular Native American features were expressionless and sagging beneath his salt and pepper hair, a fact that served to accentuate some of the age lines that had started forming on his face over the last decade. Always one for a good cliche, he liked to say it wasn’t the years, it was the mileage. He’d go on to add that those lines were just his personal road map to prove he’d been there and that any scars were simply souvenirs from his stops along the way.
Truth is, we had both racked up more than our share of miles and souvenirs, and our journey just seemed to get longer every day. Still, my friend remained on top of his game through it all, and even at this moment his dark eyes kept vigilant watch over our surroundings. Mine, on the other hand, ignored the outside world and drifted back to my hand to once again focus on the bottled jewelry.
Since the twin of this necklace had been an integral part of some very intense blood magick on Miranda’s behalf, in my own way I suppose I was attempting to keep an equally vigilant watch out for a different kind of threat. Not only had the two pieces of jewelry connected her to my wife, the missing mate was now being used to provide her with an interim host that was allowing her to roam beyond the walls of Carswell. Her thinly veiled parting comment earlier today had confirmed that and had been just that much more evidence to support my belief that it was the key to ending this nightmare once and for all.
My only question at this point was why she had not yet employed the free host to directly contact Felicity. In my mind, it seemed that would be the logical end run, as it would definitely be a way to get around me with much less effort. In retrospect, luring me to Texas should have provided the perfect opportunity to simply have the new horse walk up to our front door and ring the bell then pounce on my wife the moment she answered. The fact that this hadn’t occurred was a relief, of course, but at the same time it was troubling. What’s more, there was also the fact that until now I hadn’t foreseen another host besides Annalise as a possibility at all. That in itself just added another entire shot of anxiety to my already overflowing cup of worry.
I kept trying to tell myself that the lack of direct contact meant that something else was stopping her. What it was, I had no idea, but if it was in fact true, and I could figure it out, maybe I could use it to my advantage. Unfortunately, I also knew that what it might really mean is that she had something else planned that I couldn’t even begin to imagine. After all, when you are dealing with an insane person, it is almost impossible to predict the next move she will make. And when you are dealing with an insane person who is also the very definition of evil, all bets are off. Yet, here I stood with my chips on the table, waiting for the wheel to spin and the ball to drop. Feeling helpless wasn’t doing my disquiet any favors.
It also made me wonder if I was just as insane as she.
“Here, Row,” Ben said to me as he gave my arm a bump once again. I heard the metal on plastic hiss of a suitcase pull handle being telescoped, followed by the click of it locking into place. Out of reflex, I looked toward the sound. It appeared that my friend had retrieved my bag while I was being held captive by my inner thoughts. Leaning it toward me, he added, “C’mon. You ready to get outta here?”
“Yeah,” I grunted in agreement, my attention anything but focused.
“You okay, white man?” he asked.
“What?”
“Are you oh-kay?” he repeated, exaggerating the enunciation on each of the three words. “You’re actin’ a little more la-la land than normal, even for you.”
“Oh…that…” I nodded, then took hold of the handle on my suitcase and followed along as he and Constance arced out and around the few passengers still waiting. “Actually it’s not that at all, believe it or not. I guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind. That and I’m worn out.”
“Yeah, I can relate.” He glanced over at me as we walked toward the exit. “That bitch really got to ya’ down there, didn’t she?”
