Tearing through the coarse grass, I try to reach her. As I break into a small clearing, I catch a glimpse of her face—eyes wide and lifeless, she stares back at me as her body’s being dragged into the corn.
Sensing a presence, I turn to see a winged figure made of smoke move toward me, but I’m not afraid. The scent of freshly rained-upon soil, salt, hay, cloves, sandalwood, and saddle leather permeates the air. It’s the most beautiful smell in the world. I close my eyes to breathe it in, hoping it will imprint on my memory. And when I open them, the smoke has sharpened into the face of Dane.
I reach out to touch him, but he flinches away. I can’t help but laugh. Even my illusion of Dane won’t cooperate.
My skin is pulsing with light. Faint at first, the golden light soon grows into a soft halo that wraps around me, illuminating the protection marks.
I stand perfectly still, coaxing the golden light forward to reach him. As soon as it meets his skin, I can feel him, just as if I were touching him with my own fingers. Every bit of our connection is alive and electric as it flows through me and into him, back from him to me, and around us.
I feel his spirit, damaged and beautiful. Perfect in its flaws. Suddenly, I become worried that he can see all of me, too; something in me wants to cover up, to hide my imperfections. I feel vulnerable, like a gaping wound with salt water lapping at the edges.
“Do you see the light?”
“There’s no light,” he answers.
It makes me so sad he can’t see or feel what I feel. “Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”
Dane’s shadowy figure takes an unexpected step toward me. Even though he’s only a hallucination, I swear I can feel his gentle breath on my face. He leans forward, pressing his lips against mine. I can taste him, along with the salt of my tears that stream into our mouths. Sadness and ecstasy consume me.
I open my eyes to find Dane has vanished, along with every bit of light that beamed from my skin. I hear the crops rustle behind me. I turn and step toward the corn. As I peer through the stalks, a feeling of dread presses down on me, crushing me, holding me in place.
The dead girl’s hand emerges from the corn, clasping my ankle. “I thought you loved me,” she whispers.
? ? ?
“Ashlyn.”
I awoke sometime before dawn, sprawled on top of my covers, a thick sheen of sweat covering my body. I stirred; my muscles ached. My feet gritted against the sheets. Looking down, I found them caked in dirt.
I leapt out of bed.
“What’s going on?” Rhys mumbled.
“Nothing. Just need to get ready.” I escaped into the bathroom and rested my forehead against the closed door.
“This is real,” I told myself as I pressed my fingers into the cool wood grain. I stole a glance at myself in the mirror and did a double take.
Threaded into my tangled hair were coarse strands of prairie grass. In a panic, I checked the rest of my body. “Holy shit.” I exhaled when I discovered a bloody handprint coiled around my left ankle.
I’d gone outside without a clue of how I got there or how I got back. I’d lost time again. Maybe hours. Was Coronado’s black magic trying to lure me into the corn? But it felt deeper than that.
“Are you okay in there?” Rhys knocked on the door, startling me.
“Find another bathroom,” I snapped as I pumped water into the washtub. I stepped into the cool water and scrubbed my legs with a washcloth until they were raw, then pulled the plug, watching the dirty water swirl around my ankles and disappear down the drain.
The dead girl spoke to me. She touched me. She wanted me to find her in the corn. And Dane could take me there.
21
CRADLE TO GRAVE
TRUE TO HER WORD, Beth was waiting for us at the end of the dock. When she stood to help us into the canoe, I saw that she’d chopped off the bottom of her yellow dress, turning it into an above-the-knee skirt, which she’d paired with black socks rolled down to the same height as my motorcycle boots. I think she was trying to copy my outfit from yesterday, but she missed the mark in the worst way.
“I made muffins,” she said with that same goofy smile. “Beet and carrot.”
“Thanks.” Rhys took one. He hated beets.
I shook my head. I wasn’t up for pleasantries . . . or muffin eating . . . or anything other than staring straight ahead like a lobotomy victim.
The lake looked completely different in the rising sun, glittering and serene, like nothing bad had ever happened here.
“These are good,” Rhys said through clenched teeth.
“Really?” She took in a shallow breath. “No one ever likes my muffins.”
Rhys nodded as he made quick eye contact with me, raised an eyebrow, and swallowed.
They continued to chat while Beth rowed us across the lake, but my mind was elsewhere, drawn to that tiny slice of twilight between nightmare and dreams. What happened last night?
As we neared the dam on the north end of the lake, Beth set down the oar in the bottom of the boat and then leapt onto the low stone wall, maneuvering the canoe so we could step out easily.