The kid stared at her until his skin paled and his eyes were wide and horrified. Kellyn saw his fear and drank it in as ambrosia. This was what she thrived on. Fear. Horror. The old man was no more than a blip. Everyone else looked at her and saw only what she wanted them to see. She smiled, and the teenager grabbed up his skateboard and darted into the crowd, dissolving into anonymity.
Kellyn stared after him, fighting for control, holding on to the reins of the power within her even as her skin tingled.
A whimper caught her attention and she swung back around to see the old man shuffling away from her as fast as he could. The broken wheel on his cart sounded out a quick whappeta-whappeta as he went, his shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow, and still he threw a look at her over his shoulder.
“Won’t see,” he chimed again, “pretty lady with the dark inside. Won’t see it. Not there, not there at all.”
People stepped away from him as if he were somehow contagious. The crowd pushed into the street as the light changed, and Kellyn was still standing, rooted to the spot, watching that crazy old man run from her.
It was as if he’d somehow sensed what was crouched inside her. Was he so much more attuned than the rest of these ignorant humans?
Interesting. She watched him go and thought about following. Killing him. Watching the light drain from his already ruined eyes. But what would be the point? Even if he tried to tell someone what he’d glimpsed of her true nature, who would believe him? Hell, who would listen to him? She’d bring more attention to him with his death than he would ever draw alive.
“No,” she whispered. “Leave him to his misery.”
Shaking her head, she dismissed the old goat and walked down the street, feeling a hot breeze ruffle her spiky hair. She had things to do and no time to waste on unimportant details.
Pausing at a newsstand, she let her gaze scan the headlines quickly.
ESCAPED WITCH! DOZENS DIE IN BOTCHED MAGIC PLOT. WITCH ON THE LOOSE.
She smiled to herself.
“More than one,” she murmured.
Chapter 25
Torin heard the shower running and tried to pull his mind away from the image of a naked Shea standing beneath the hot, steaming water, soap bubbles clinging to her skin . . .
“You said you called Odell,” Rune prompted, shattering Torin’s thoughts. “Did he know of this Kellyn?”
“He did,” Torin said, stalking to the front window and staring out into the night. The mountain was quiet, the sky black with stardust spread across its width like pinpricks of light through a sheet of velvet. The wind rattled the window glass and whispered across the top of the chimney.
Satisfied that they were still alone in the dark, he focused again on his friend. Before calling Rune to check in, Torin had placed a call to Odell, an Eternal based near his witch in London.
Odell was still watching, waiting for his witch to enter the Awakening. Meanwhile, he was spending most of his time breaking witches out of internment camps in the English countryside. He was running his own private underground railroad, spiriting witches and hunted humans to safety.
“Odell says Kellyn’s Eternal is Egan.”
“Egan.” Rune muttered something unintelligible and then admitted,“I haven’t seen him in a couple of hundred years. After his witch’s last incarnation, he disappeared.”
“It’s not good to be too alone,” Torin muttered, though he could appreciate why Egan had felt compelled to find solitude. Watching your witch live and die again and again took a toll on even the most stalwart Eternal. Unless, of course, like Odell, you found something else to keep you occupied.
But even if he were thousands of miles from Kellyn, Egan should have felt her Awakening. Maybe this Kellyn had been lying, he thought. But why? What would she gain?
And if she was an Awakened witch, why hadn’t Egan been called to her?
“Alone is what we do best,” Rune reminded him.
“That was true for too long. But not anymore,” Torin said. “Find Egan.”
“A little busy here. Getting these women to Sanctuary, remember?”
“Right. Yes.” Torin turned to look toward the bathroom when he heard the shower turn to the massage head, water pounding in regular rhythm. He muffled a groan at the image that filled his mind. Shea, thighs spread beneath those pulsing jets of water, trembling, gasping, helpless to stop her own pleasure from crashing over her.