Storm Born. Richelle Mead

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СКАЧАТЬ my sauna for a long time. I liked a lot of things about my little house out in the foothills, but the sauna was one of my favorites. It might seem kind of pointless in the desert, but Arizona had mostly dry heat, and I liked the feel of humidity and moisture on my skin. I leaned back against the wooden wall, enjoying the sensation of sweating out the stress. My body ached—some parts more fiercely than others—and the heat let some of the muscles loosen up.

      The solitude also soothed me. Pathetic as it was, I probably had no one to blame for my lack of sociability except myself. I spent a lot of time alone and didn’t mind. When my stepfather, Roland, had first trained me as a shaman, he’d told me that in a lot of cultures, shamans essentially lived outside of normal society. The idea had seemed crazy to me at the time, being in junior high, but it made more sense now that I was older.

      I wasn’t a complete socialphobe, but I found I often had a hard time interacting with other people. Talking in front of groups was murder. Even talking one-on-one had its issues. I had no pets or children to ramble on about, and I couldn’t exactly talk about things like the incident in Las Cruces. Yeah, I had kind of a long day. Drove four hours, fought an ancient minion of evil. After a few bullets and knife wounds, I obliterated him and sent him on to the world of death. God, I swear I’m not getting paid enough for this crap, you know? Cue polite laughter.

      When I left the sauna, I had another message from Lara telling me the appointment with the distraught brother had been arranged for tomorrow. I made a note in my day planner, took a shower, and retired to my room, where I threw on black silk pajamas. For whatever reason, nice pajamas were the one indulgence I allowed myself in an otherwise dirty and bloody lifestyle. Tonight’s selection had a cami top that showed serious cleavage, had anyone been there to see it. I always wore a ratty robe around Tim.

      Sitting at my desk, I emptied out a new jigsaw puzzle I’d just bought. It depicted a kitten on its back clutching a ball of yarn. My love of puzzles ranked up there with the pajama thing for weirdness, but they eased my mind. Maybe it was the fact that they were so tangible. You could hold the pieces in your hand and make them fit together, as opposed to the insubstantial stuff I usually worked with.

      While my hands moved the pieces around, I kept trying to shake the knowledge that the keres had known my name. What did that mean? I’d made a lot of enemies in the Otherworld. I didn’t like the thought of them being able to track me personally. I preferred to stay Odile. Anonymous. Safe. Probably not much point worrying about it, I supposed. The keres was dead. He wouldn’t be telling any tales.

      Two hours later, I finished the puzzle and admired it. The kitten had brown tabby fur, its eyes an almost azure blue. The yarn was red. I took out my digital camera, snapped a picture, and then broke up the puzzle, dumping it back into its box. Easy come, easy go.

      Yawning, I slipped into bed. Tim had done laundry today; the sheets felt crisp and clean. Nothing like that fresh-sheets smell. Despite my exhaustion, however, I couldn’t fall asleep. It was one of life’s ironies. While awake, I could slide into a trance with the snap of a finger. My spirit could leave my body and travel to other worlds. Yet, for whatever reason, sleep was more elusive. Doctors had recommended a number of sedatives, but I hated to use them. Drugs and alcohol bound the spirit to this world, and while I did indulge occasionally, I generally liked being ready to slip over at a moment’s notice.

      Tonight I suspected my insomnia had something to do with a teenage girl…. But no. I couldn’t think about that, not yet. Not until I spoke with the brother.

      Sighing, needing something else to ponder, I rolled over and stared at my ceiling, at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. I started counting them, as I had so many other restless nights. There were exactly thirty-three of them, just like last time. Still, it never hurt to check.

      Chapter Two

      Wil Delaney was in his early twenties, with straw-yellow hair in need of a haircut. He had pasty white skin and wore wire-rimmed glasses. When I showed up at his house the next morning, he had to undo about twenty locks before he could open the door, and even then, he would only peek out with the security chain in place.

      “Yes?” he asked suspiciously.

      I put on my business face. “I’m Odile. Lara set up our appointment?”

      He studied me. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.” A moment later, he closed the door and undid the chain. The door opened again, and he ushered me inside.

      I glanced around as I entered, taking in stacks and stacks of books and newspapers—and a definite lack of light. “Kind of dark in here.”

      “Can’t open the blinds,” he explained. “You never know who’ll be watching.”

      “Oh. Well. What about the lights?”

      He shook his head. “You’d be amazed how much radiation lights and other electrical devices emit. It’s what’s making cancer run rampant in our society.”

      “Oh.”

      We sat at his kitchen table, and he explained to me why he thought his sister had been abducted by the gentry. I had a hard time concealing my skepticism. It wasn’t like this kind of thing was unheard of, but I was starting to pick up on Lara’s “schizo” vibe. It was highly possible that the gentry could simply have been a figment of his imagination.

      “This is her.” He brought me a five-by-seven picture showing him and a pretty girl leaning into each other against a grassy backdrop. “Taken just before the abduction.”

      “She’s cute. And young. Does she…did she…live with you?”

      He nodded. “Our parents died about five years ago. I got custody of her. Not much different than how it used to be.”

      “What do you mean?”

      Bitterness crossed that neurotic face, an odd juxtaposition. “Our dad was always off on some business trip, and our mom kept sleeping around on him. So it’s always just sort of been Jasmine and me.”

      “And what makes you think she was taken by gen—fairies?”

      “The timing,” he explained. “It happened on Halloween. Samhain Eve. That’s one of the biggest nights for abductions and hauntings, you know. Data supports it. The walls between the worlds open.”

      He sounded like he was reciting from a textbook. Or the Internet. Sometimes I thought Internet access was like putting guns in the hands of toddlers. I tried not to roll my eyes as he rambled. I didn’t really need a layman explaining remedial information to me.

      “Yeah, I know all that. But a lot of scary people—humans—roam around on Halloween too. And lots of other times. I don’t suppose you reported it to the police?”

      “I did. They weren’t able to turn up anything, not that I really needed them. I knew what had happened because of the location. The place she disappeared. That was what made me know fairies did it.”

      “Where?”

      “This one park. She was at a party with some kids from school. They had a bonfire in the woods, and they saw her wander off. The police traced her tracks to this clearing, and then they just stopped. And you know what was there?” He gave me a dramatic look, evidently ready to impress me. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking the obvious question, so he answered it for me. “A fairy ring. A perfect circle of flowers growing in the grass.”

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