by P. C. Cast
Her gaze took in other details. The clock on her wall flashed 12:01—no, 12:02. The dark of the night seeped through the five-inch crack in the red, orange and yellow curtains Lana had made, and the scent of rain saturated the air, a roll of thunder booming.
Once upon a time, she had loved storms. Had loved the smells and the drop in temperature, the feel of raindrops against her skin. But lately they reminded her too much of Lana’s tears, and even the tears she sometimes wanted to shed. Now that love was dead. As dead as the girl you’re painting.
Ugh. The sickness intensified. So…she must have blacked out. Last thing she remembered was sitting on the couch, talking to Lana, waiting for Levi to come over, praying he’d learned something, fearing he’d learned something. Then…nothing.
Lightning suddenly struck, blazing the sky with gold and—a scream lodged in her throat, her heart pounding uncontrollably. A girl stood on the balcony outside her window, staring in at her with violet eyes. Other details registered. A fall of black hair, the wistful features of a young woman ready to fall in love, happy with her life yet somehow miserable at the same time.
How long had she stood there, watching? Had she noticed the scene unfolding on the canvas? As the questions filled Harper’s mind, anger filled her chest. The peeping had to stop. Now.
Harper dropped her brush, heard the plop of it against the plastic covering she kept over the floor and stomped to the window.
By the time she had the pane lifted, the girl was gone.
Cool, moist air wafted inside the room, carrying the scents of floral spices and freshly cut grass; both failed to calm her, only ratcheted her anger higher. Harper pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she snapped the pane back in place and threw the lock. She closed the curtains, being sure to hook the edges and prevent even the smallest fissure from forming, then she stood there for several minutes, knowing she was stalling, knowing she needed to turn, to face the truth one more time. Maybe this time would be the last. Maybe this time she had finished the painting, and all the answers would slide into place.
Maybe.
But hopefully not.
As much as she wanted to know, she didn’t want to know.
“I can do this,” she muttered. Slowly, so slowly, she turned on her heel. Deep breath in, deep breath out, she lifted her gaze.
And there it was, her painting. The overhead light seemed to spotlight the entire canvas, and…oh, no, no, no! She hadn’t finished it, hadn’t given the man a face, but she had finished the woman.
Lana was the woman on that slab, a bloody blade poised over her heart.
Lana. Her Lana.
No, no. No! That wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be possible. Lana would have told her if she’d been in that nightmare situation and somehow managed to escape. Lana was alive, and like Harper, Lana had never come home with injuries.
How would you know? You black out, lose track of time. What if her injuries healed during one of those blackouts, huh? No, no, no, she thought again. Panic…rising…
Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the woman only looked like Lana. But black hair bleached and colored red cascaded over slender shoulders—and how many women had hair like that? Long black lashes cast shadows over hollowed cheeks. A perfectly sloped nose, lips red and raw, chewed from worry.
Though Harper had painted over all the cuts and bruises, though the woman’s skin was smooth and creamy, blood spilled from her neck, her wrists, her stomach, her legs, her feet. Blood splattered the walls, pooled on the floor.
Blood.
Lana’s blood.
Lana’s. Blood.
If this truly were Lana—no, no, no, it couldn’t be…just couldn’t—how could Harper have known what happened to her? Lana hadn’t told her. Or…what if she had told her, but Harper had repressed the memory, as she’d first feared?
Harper raced to the bathroom and dry heaved, thoughts batting through her mind one after the other. Every time Lana viewed the painting, she paled and clutched her stomach. The first time, she had actually vomited. Could she have repressed the memories, too, after confessing? Could something inside her recognize the pain she had endured?
With shaky hands, Harper brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face. “You have to confront her,” she told her reflection. “Have to learn the truth. For both of you.”
Determined, she stalked down the hallway. She’d forgotten to turn off the hall lights again—either that, or she’d turned them on during her blackout.
She stood in front of Lana’s bedroom door. Her hand shook with more intensity as she wrapped her fingers around the knob and twisted. As the hall light spilled across the bed and the woman lying in the center, enveloped by a familiar rainbow-colored comforter, her red hair tangled over her pillow, her eyes closed in the sweet retreat of slumber, relief filled Harper to the point of bursting.
Whatever happened, she survived.
Did she really want to awaken Lana to a nightmare?
Harper gulped, the heavy question weighing her down. No. No, she didn’t. The truth could wait until morning.
As quietly as she was able, she closed the door, checked every other door and window in the apartment. Levi had said he would get in touch with her yesterday evening, but he hadn’t and now she was done waiting for him. She’d waited all day, in fact, and hadn’t even received a hastily scribbled “Can’t make it” note under her door. Well, he would now have to deal with the consequences of breaking his word.
She stomped out of the apartment, locked up after herself, double-checked the lock, triple-checked the lock, then padded to Levi’s and—dang it! She’d forgotten to pull on a pair of sneaks. Someone had spilled a soda, so the carpet was cold and wet. Shivers were soon raking the length of her spine, intensifying when a clap of thunder boomed.
A hard rap at his door, shifting from one increasingly irritated and sticky foot to the other while glancing around to make sure no one tried to sneak up on her. When she spotted the freaky girl with the violet eyes gliding toward her, dry black hair floating back in a breeze Harper couldn’t feel, her own bare feet seeming to lift off the ground, panic threatened to engulf her. How had the girl gone from outside to in so quickly, without getting wet?
“Such a naughty girl.” In a voice as eerie as the rest of her, the teenager added, “You should have been nicer to him. He loved you, loved you so much.”
Could she be… Was she a spirit, maybe? Harper had never possessed the ability to see into that other realm, but this was just too weird to be natural.
And, to be honest, she wanted no part of it. “Levi.” Another rap, this one harder, yet still Levi failed to respond. “Levi, it’s Harper! Open up.”
The girl was coming closer and closer.... Harper tried the knob. It twisted easily. She darted into the apartment, quickly barricading herself inside. One minute passed, two, but the girl never misted through the door as Harper had been half convinced she would, never so much as knocked.
Still trembling, she peeked through the peephole but found the hallway empty. As the panic left her, common sense piped up. Lana could see the dead. Lana had always been able to see the dead. She knew the difference between living and un-living at a single glance, and she would always tell Harper when she spotted a spirit. Not once since they’d moved into this building had she pointed one out.
Tomorrow, Harper was doing a little research of her own, and maybe she would try to speak to an expert on those who
developed a latent ability to see into the spirit realm—and find out if it were possible for someone to lose the ability. She wouldn’t speak with Lana’s coworkers, though. If Lana was having trouble, she didn’t want anyone else to know it. But then, who did that leave?
“Levi, it’s Harper,” she called. “Are you here?”
Silence.
No, not silence. Another crack of thunder boomed, practically splitting the air in half. She yelped, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“Levi!”
Again, silence.
Why would he leave his place unlocked? That wasn’t very coplike. And why wasn’t he here? He’d said he was girlfriend free. Unless…maybe, while looking into Harper’s story, he’d met a woman and stayed the night at her place.
Why that thought irritated her so much, she wasn’t sure. She liked the look of him, yeah, but her life was a mess and she was pretty sure she’d already decided not to pursue anything with him, so— Oh, why are you trying to fight it? You like more than the look of him. You like his strength and his intensity and that take-charge attitude of his. He makes you feel safe—when he’s not sneaking up on you—and that’s something you don’t get from anyone else. You’ll never know if something more could grow between you unless you try.
Well, well. An intelligent line of thought, bypassing her qualms. That’s how badly she wanted him, she supposed.
And he wanted her, too, which was an unusual occurrence, really. Most guys went for Lana and never changed their minds. But would Levi be okay with dating Harper, considering the trouble she was bringing to his door?
“Levi,” she called again. “This is your last chance to announce your presence before I start nosing around your place. If you shoot me after I’ve given you this warning, I’ll be very upset.”
Again, silence.
“All right, then.” No way was she going back into that hall. Sighing, she flipped the light switch, chasing away the darkness and illuminating his living room.
She walked forward, intending to wash her feet in his bathroom—only to stop short.
He was here.
He was sitting on his couch.
And he was staring at the wall with a blank expression on his face.
Concerned, Harper approached him. “Levi?” She bent down and waved a hand in front of his face, but he gave no reaction.
He wore the same clothes he’d changed into the first time she’d been here. Black T-shirt, black slacks. A quick check of his pulse proved his heartbeat was strong and steady, but his skin was chilled. Alarmingly chilled. His pupils were unresponsive to the light, his ears somehow unaware of the now-constant roll of thunder.
Harper reached out, intending to pat his cheek to gauge his responsiveness to a more direct touch. He reacted with reflexes as swift as the lightning outside, grabbing her by the wrist and stilling her.
He blinked. A moment later, his gaze locked with hers. Awareness hit her with the force of a jackhammer. He smoldered with rumpled sex appeal.
“Harper?” Her name was little more than a growl.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk—”
“Never mind. Talk later.” He jerked, and she landed in his lap.
CHAPTER SIX
One moment Levi was trapped in a world of black and helplessness, and the next Harper was spotlighted in front of him, all that he saw, all that he wanted to see. Like an angel, her pale hair had seemed to form a halo around her, her concerned gaze so gentle it caressed him. She had been his only anchor to the world, a tether that would not allow him to slip away.
He’d remembered going to the station, speaking to Bright. Remembered finding out Harper had been reported missing, and her roommate had failed to tell the police she’d returned home. He’d had every intention of interrogating Lana, but then the darkness had come for him, right there in the station. And now he was…somewhere else, and Harper was with him....
“Levi?” she said.
Had he called her and asked her to come over? Dragged her here? He hated not knowing.
Frowning, he glanced around. He was inside his apartment, the lights switched on, bright enough to make his eyes water, though he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. He was sitting on his couch, and Harper was in his lap.
He liked that she was in his lap.
Was she truly here, though? Was she real? Was she healthy, whole, alive? Unharmed by a murderer? He had to know…and he had to taste her, he thought, the need consuming him in an instant. She would keep the darkness at bay. She would keep him in the here and now. And he would protect her, he vowed.
He pressed his lips into hers.
The moment of contact, she gasped, and the moment her mouth opened, he took full advantage, kissing her as if she possessed everything necessary for his survival.
Maybe she did.
No one would hurt this woman. Not ever again. He wouldn’t allow it.
At first she was stiff, but as his tongue rolled against hers, she melted against him, her hands making their way into his hair. Nails dug into his scalp. Her legs straddled him, those lethal knees pushing into the back of the couch.
How sweet she tasted, like an aged wine, heady and something to savor. He forced himself to gentle, sipping from her for as long as his control would allow, then he drank deeply, already addicted and needing more. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough, but, oh, he would try. He would take everything she had to give, and still demand more.
He didn’t like the circumstances that had brought them together, but he was glad they had been brought together, that something good could come of something so ugly.
“Harper.”
“Yes?”
He meant to say something, but once again he got caught up in kissing her and couldn’t remember what it was. Him, a man who could memorize any number at any time, now so forgetful. But what better thing to concentrate on? Her moans of approval blended with the rough rasp of his breaths; they strained against each other, his need for her deepening, spiraling, threatening to burst from his skin.
And she was with him all the way—until his hands began to roam down her back, circle around her hips and slip up…up…toward her breasts. She gave another gasp, this one laced with fear. She jerked away from him, stumbling into his coffee table, tripping to the side, falling, then crab-walking away from him until her back hit the far wall.
Fear…that fear permeated the cloud of desire in his mind. “Harper,” he said in a voice still affected by smoky desire. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not ready,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “I can’t. I can’t, and you can’t make me. Please don’t make me.”
I’m not ready. The words echoed through his mind, and he froze. I can’t, and you can’t make me. Please don’t make me. Had someone once forced her? His hands curled into fists. No. He didn’t want to believe it, was sick at the thought. This had to be about the painting. A lone female, bound to a cold slab of metal, naked, tools of torture hanging on the walls.
“Harper,” he said. She was breathing too heavily, would probably pass out if she failed to calm.
He’d once looked at her and thought her somehow broken. Now he knew beyond a doubt. She was—but she was so much more. She had stalked into the apartment of a man she’d never before met and asked for help. She’d had the strength to patch herself up, to hunt for answ
ers.
“Harper,” he repeated as he stood.
A little mewl left her.
One step, two, he approached her, his steps unhurried, as nonthreatening as possible. He held his hands in front of his body, palms out. “I’m not going to make you do anything, okay?”
Another mewl.
“You’re here with me, with Levi, and you’re safe.” Before, he’d told himself he would leave her alone if she was broken in any way, that he was too weighed down with his own concerns to help someone else recover. Now he knew there was no way he could stay out of her life. Not just because he wanted more of her, more of everything she had to offer, but because he hated seeing her like this. He wanted his smiling, teasing Harper back.
When he reached her, he crouched down, careful not to touch her. “Harper, sweetheart. Can you hear me?”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
A sharp pang in his chest had him biting his tongue to stop a curse from forming. Slowly, so slowly, he extended his hand to brush the hair from her brow. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but what he got wasn’t it. She erupted into a blaze of motion and fury.
“No!” Her fist struck him in the eye.
A surprising amount of pain exploded through his head, considering her tiny size, but still he remained immobile. He’d been hit enough times in his life that being smacked with a semi probably wouldn’t have fazed him. But she wasn’t done, and next did her best to rain a world of hurt on him. He let her. By the fifth punch, his adrenaline was so high he hardly felt a thing, anyway. It was only when she began to kick and to twist, trying to claw her way out through the wall, that he reached out to stop her.
He caught himself just before contact. If he touched her too soon, her terror and desperation would only be driven higher and he’d have a whole new set of injuries to contend with. He would have to wait this out. Shouldn’t be too much longer now. Her motions were slowing…slowing....
Finally, the fight left her entirely. She collapsed on the floor, sobbing, breaking his heart into so many pieces he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to glue them back together.