Maddie glanced at her watch for the thousandth time. It was nearing midnight and still no word from Jon.
Obviously, he was having such a good time he wasn't in a hurry to get back. Let's just hope he
And that, she thought with a frown, was an extremely bitchy thought. She rose from the sofa and walked across to the window. The curtains were a sun-faded orange and smelled of faintly stale beer and smoke.
Just like the room. The Sea View was not one of the more classy motels. But the old guy at the desk had been nice, even though she'd clearly woken him up. And it certainly felt a lot safer waiting here than it would have back at the inn.
She pushed the curtains aside, leaned against the windowpane and studied the waves lapping the beach across the road.
Trouble was, she was getting tired of waiting. Tired of doing nothing but running.
It was way past time she started taking control of her life. Or at least one tiny part of it. Thanks to Jon, she now knew that it was possible to control her gifts. So why not extend that? Why not try to find Evan with them?
Fear leapt up and clenched her throat tight. She bit her lip and leaned her forehead against the cool glass pane. All her life she'd been taught to fear her gifts, to despise what they could do. And in truth, up until now they had caused her nothing but grief. But here, at last, was a chance to do some good, a chance to save a life rather than take it.
If she had the courage.
She took a deep breath then walked across to her bag, digging around until she found Evan's gold chain.
Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn't.
Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, she looped the chain around her hand and closed her eyes. She formed a picture of Evan in her mind and projected her need to find him.
Nothing happened.
She frowned slightly. Thought of him laughing as they played football together, remembered the look on his face the Halloween she'd dressed up as a witch and come visiting. Still nothing happened. No images came.
She sighed and opened her eyes. Maybe she needed another focus—what had set her abilities off recently? The smell of citrus—oranges!
She scrambled off the sofa and ran to the door. The light was still on in the office. She grabbed her key and ran across.
The old man looked up as she ran in. 'Just caught me,' he said with a smile. 'What can I do for you, lass?'
'Is there anywhere near I can get some oranges?'
If he was surprised by her odd request, he certainly didn't show it. 'There's very little open at this hour, I'm afraid.' He frowned thoughtfully, gnarled fingers tapping the desk. 'But I've a couple of old ones out back. If all you want is juice, they'd be fine.'
Maddie grinned in relief. 'That would be great. Thanks.'
She collected the oranges and returned to her room. After locking the door, she found a small knife and sliced them open, putting the halves into a small bowl before returning to the sofa.
Her heart raced uncomfortably in her chest—a rhythm caused more by uncertainty than fear. She'd failed at everything else she'd tried to do in her life; she didn't want to fail at this.
She brought the bowl up to her nose and took a deep sniff. The faint scent of citrus ran around her, sweet and compelling. She picked up the chain and once again pictured Evan's smiling face in her mind.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then darkness rushed at her, pulling her down into its grip. She fought the tide, thinking of Evan, trying to compel the dream in that direction.
The darkness swirled then slowly cleared, revealing the familiar interior of the old cabin. In one corner she could see the bundle of blankets that was Evan and the second teenager. In the other, a bright fire.
Sitting in a chair beside the fire was Hank. She frowned. What was he doing at the cabin when he was supposedly the night watch at the inn?
The dream shimmered, fading slightly. She forced herself to concentrate. She had to try to direct the dream to the cabin's exterior… the image blurred for a minute, then reformed. Suddenly, she was outside. Tall, snow- dusted pines surrounded the clearing like sentries on duty. A windbreak, she thought.
The trees were too regimented to be anything else. The dream drifted forward; a rutted, slushy track led away from the front of the cabin and through the pines.
Her dream followed it. The track wound down the mountainside, past the bluish pines and into mountain wildness. Finally, it came to a main road. The letterbox on the side of the road said Malkin Cabin. The dream drifted on and came to a sign—'Jewell, 15 miles.'
A huge crash wrenched her from the dream. With a squeak of fright, she leapt to her feet, her heart thumping rapidly somewhere in vicinity of her throat.
Someone or something was outside her room.
Chapter Eleven
Maddie took a deep breath, then gathered her courage and walked across to the window. Pushing the curtains to one side, she looked out.
Jon was sprawled across the front of her truck. That must have been the crash she'd heard—but how the heck had he gotten there? He looked as if he'd been thrown there, and he certainly wasn't moving.
Her breath caught in her throat… was he hurt?
She ran for the door. He jerked upright when she rushed out, a smile touching his full lips.
'Maddie. Glad to see you.'
There was a cut on his cheek. Though it didn't look deep, blood was smeared over the right side of his face. His speech was slurred, and his blue eyes were slightly unfocused. Great, she thought sourly, he's
Her gaze widened at the thought. Ohmigod, he could fly. He had told her he was a shapeshifter. That his other shape was a hawk. She licked her lips, studying him nervously. She hadn't really believed him before. Something deep within had refused to, even though she'd been attacked by ghosts, whose existence she would have relegated to the realms of fairy tales right along with shapeshifters.
Her gaze slipped to the dent underneath him. If he could fly, you'd think he'd at least be able to land a little better.
She saw the old guy in the office peering out his window and offered Jon a hand. 'Here, let me help you inside before we attract too much attention.'
The last thing they needed right now was the old guy calling the cops.
He grabbed her hand and slipped off the hood, but his movements were unsteady, almost awkward. She frowned. Sweat beaded his forehead and darkened his golden hair, his breathing was shallow and rapid.
This had to be more than mere drunkenness—maybe he was ill. Worry snaked through her. Maybe she should just take him to the hospital instead.
She slipped his arm around his shoulders to hold him upright. His gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a warmth that cut through her soul. He touched her cheek, then ran a finger lightly down to her lips. She resisted the temptation to kiss his fingertips and jerked away instead. She had no intention of starting a fire she could not
