The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,35
at him. “Why do you do that? You did the same thing at the pub. It’s just coffee, and you look like you’re at a wine tasting.”
He gave a lopsided smile. “Old habits die hard. My mom owns Waverly’s Deli back home. When she opened the shop five years ago, she was looking for the perfect blend of coffee. I got to be the test subject.”
“Well, I’ve tasted the end result, and I think she hit the nail on the head. I go there on my way to work. What’s her secret?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She shot him a playful scowl, and he chuckled. When she flung a cloth napkin at his head, he caught it and threw it back at her.
Joking with her. Who knew?
She’d be returning to her camp soon. He found himself looking for ways to stall her. Even though he knew what she was, now. Even though he’d spent twenty years believing that anyone with such abilities ought to go straight to hell.
But damn it, she made him laugh—especially when he said something that caught her off guard, and she gave him that cute smirk. Not to mention the way his body reacted when the wind shifted, and her hair lashed around her shoulders. Why, oh, why had he given her that sweatshirt back? He liked the bathing suit a lot better, even though it was getting cold out and he knew if that was all she had on, her nip—
Hot coffee sloshed out of his cup and onto his hand. “Son of a...”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just me being—damn it—never mind.” He lowered the coffee cup to the ground, and sucked on a burned knuckle. His gaze zeroed in on her lips, and he pictured them closing over his fingertips one at a time...
He shut his eyes.
More Latin.
“Cinnamon drop?” she said.
He risked a look. She dug into her pocket for a fistful of something and reached toward him, opening her palm.
Candy. He remembered the maddening, spicy taste of her the first time he’d kissed her. You’re really pushing my good behavior, God. He took a piece and shucked it out of its wrapper into his mouth. “Thanks.”
She did the same with another piece. “I should go. Do you need help with the dishes?”
“No, I’ve got them,” he said, getting up. He offered his hand.
She took it and he pulled her onto her feet. She smiled.
A tiny, sharp pain lanced through him.
He couldn’t hate her.
He couldn’t even dislike her.
They said their goodbyes, and she walked away down the island.
A slice of sun remained visible on the ocean’s horizon, staining the sky with its red-orange glow.
Leaving the dishes, he strolled toward the cliff edge to watch it finish setting.
Just before the last glimmer faded, he spread his arms and let the wind rush through his fingers.
Chapter Seven
Faith sprang awake and sat bolt upright in her cot. A pair of books slid off her chest and plopped on the floor of the tent. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog and decipher what had disturbed her.
The air fizzed with a prickling charge that danced along her skin. Fine hairs along her arms stood on end.
A ghost. She felt it clear as day, urgent, almost frantic. She threw aside the covers and stood up. “You,” she whispered, realizing it was the same ghost who’d been trying to contact her since her arrival at Hvitmar. “What is it? Show me.”
Barefoot, she followed the current toward the tent door. The moment she stepped outside, it felt as if someone had jammed an ice pick into her gut. She gasped and doubled over in agony.
The island was breathing.
Faith sank to her knees with a moan, holding her belly, fighting against the currents of energy in the air. The ghost hovered near, now on one side, then on the other. She sensed it moving, but couldn’t concentrate.
An icy chill settled on her shoulder. She gasped again and jerked away from the contact, her skin crawling. She’d communicated with dozens of ghosts in her thirty years, but never had one touched her. Her shoulder stung with the sensation of frostbite. She sucked in a breath and struggled to her feet.
Vibrating with impatience, the spirit drove her to the dig site. She approached the markers at the edge of the ruin, terrified to go on, but dreading the ghost’s touch. The very air trembled around her. She stopped, heaving for breath. “I don’t want to do this.”