"Evan is safe at home. This is ridiculous."
"Someone is drawing me here, Madeline. Someone who knows he's in danger. You're the connection between us. Tonight is a full moon. Go call your sister." She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bedroom door. Then she hesitated, looking back at Jon. He hadn't moved, but his body had faded, losing its shape to the darkness. Only his blue eyes were still bright.
"Go call her," he said. "Then come to me. Save me." Maddie turned away from his plea, though she knew he wouldn't be there when she returned. She ran down the hall to the phone in the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. Somehow, the darkness seemed too intense to face alone. Fingers trembling, she picked up the phone and dialed Jayne's number. It seemed to ring forever. Maddie bit her lip, hoping nothing had happened, hoping that Evan was in bed and safe.
"Hello?" a croaky, half-asleep voice said eventually.
"Jayne, it's me," she said without preamble. "Is Evan there? Is he all right?"
There was a slight pause, and Maddie could hear the rustle of blankets as her sister shifted around in her bed. "Of course he is. Why?" Because I'm a fool, because a ghost told me he may be in danger. "Humor your little sister and just go check, will you?"
Jayne sighed. "Maddie, have you been drinking again?" Maddie closed her eyes. Whenever Jayne thought she had a problem, she always asked the same question—even though it had been six years and ten days since Maddie had last had a drink. Not since the fire that had taken her husband's life, she thought with a shiver. The experts had never found an explanation for that fire, though they had theories aplenty. Maddie knew the truth, but she wasn't about to tell anyone— not even her sister. She cleared her throat. "No. I had a dream, and I want to reassure myself he's all right."
"For God's sake, it's after two." Annoyance ran through Jayne's voice, but at least she was still listening. At least she hadn't yet slammed the phone down.
"I'm well aware of the time. It will only take a minute to check on Evan. Please."
"I guess I damn well better," her sister muttered. "Or you'll be calling all night again."
Maddie heard Steve, Jayne's husband, murmur something about weird sisters, then the squeak of springs as Jayne got out of bed. Maddie grimaced, hoping she was just being weird. Hoping Jon wasn't right. She stared out the kitchen window as she waited, watching the snow flurries dance across her yard. Then she heard the sound of returning footsteps, and felt her stomach knot. Please let Evan be safe.
"Evan's sound asleep in bed, Maddie." Jayne's voice was a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "And by the sound of it, so should you be." This time Jayne did hang up on her, but Maddie didn't mind. Jon had been wrong. Evan was okay. She replaced the receiver then thrust a shaking hand through her hair as she sagged back against the wall in relief. Maybe Jayne was right. Maybe all she needed was a good night's sleep—something that had eluded her ever since her world had disappeared into flames.
She closed her eyes, fighting the memories, fighting the sudden need to wash the pain into oblivion with a drink. That chapter of her life was over. She would not return, even through memories. And if Jon did come back, she'd tell him to go find someone else to tell his weird story to. She wasn't interested—not if the cost was to make her sister think she was stranger than ever.
***
His only chance of survival was a woman afraid of life. Jon shook his head at the irony of it and leaned wearily against the cold stone wall of the well. He'd seen the fear in the amber flame of her eyes, in the tremble in her hands as she ran her fingers through her chestnut-colored hair. She was afraid to move from the safety of her home.
And he would die if she didn't.
He smiled grimly and stared up at the pale stars twinkling in the dark bracket of sky far above him.
How he wished he could fly, simply wing his way up out of the well to freedom. But he couldn't even climb with his arm like this. He glanced down, noting his flesh had swollen around the handkerchief he'd tied across his forearm.
Someone had shot him, but not with a gun, as Madeline had presumed. Someone in Taurin Bay knew what he was. They'd used arrows made of white ash, a weapon deadly to those with magic in their souls.
He'd broken off most of the shaft, but a section was still embedded in his flesh, and probably the only reason he hadn't yet bled to death. Oddly enough, he felt no pain. Not now, anyway. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the numbness beginning to infuse his body. Or maybe he was as thickskinned as many of his friends believed. He grimaced and closed his eyes. He'd thought about dying many times in his life, but he never thought it would come like this—lying helpless and alone in the cold, cold night.
And yet, in some ways, it was oddly fitting. He'd spent most of his adult life alone, so why not die the same way?
He wouldn't have cared much, either, if he'd had the chance to see his family one more time and explain why he'd avoided them so much over the last ten years. An owl hooted softly in the distance. He listened carefully, then heard the soft snap of wings, the small cry of a field mouse. If the owls were out looking for a meal, it meant there was no one about to disturb their hunting. And therefore, no one about hunting him. Trapped down this damn well, he'd be easy pickings. A day had passed since he'd been shot. By all rights, he should be safe, but he'd learned over the years never to relax his guard.
Had learned the hard way that should\>Q safe never meant it was. He toed the water lapping the edges of the small ledge. The water had been his salvation in more ways than one—it had broken his fall and, no doubt, saved his life. And it was drinkable, which meant he wasn't in any danger of dehydration. But it might yet kill him, too. His abilities gave him some protection against the cold, but he knew he was starting to push his limits. His plunge into the water had soaked every bit of his clothing, and now he was so cold it hurt to move.
If Madeline did find the courage to come to his rescue, she might discover nothing more than a five-foot-ten icicle.
Madeline—what was he going to do about her? How could he convince her she was sane and he really needed her help? What had happened in her life that made her so afraid?
A wave of dizziness hit him. There was nothing he could do except ride out the feeling. He probably had enough strength left to contact her one more time. If he couldn't convince her to help him, he'd just have to hope that someone in the Circle realized he was in trouble and came to his rescue. Because if someone didn't, more kids would die.
***
The snow had turned to rain, which fell in a soaking mist. Rivers of water were beginning to run past the house, scouring tiny trenches along the freshly graded driveway. The tops of the cedars, claret ashes and silver birches that crowded the fence line were lost to the mist, and though dawn should have come and gone, night still seemed to hold court.
Maddie raised the coffee mug she held between both hands and took a sip. The wind was bitter, but the wide old verandah protected her from the worst of the storm, and her threadbare coat kept her warm enough for the moment. She couldn't face going indoors just yet. The old house was too big, too full of ghosts... Except for one.
She sighed and leaned back against a veranda post. She couldn't shake Jon from her thoughts. Couldn't shake the desperation she'd glimpsed in his eyes. What if he wasn't a ghost, but alive and in dire need of her help?