Midnight Mage

27

***

After tossing her final magazine to the floor, Tabby stretched and yawned. “What’s Declan doing?”

I glared, but she just smiled sweetly. Sighing in defeat, I closed my eyes and focused on the Alpha. “Working on the training room wall.”

Tabby whistled as she stood. “Remind me to stay on your good side. Same time and place tomorrow? You should ask Riven to put a television in here. We can watch movies. I’ll bring nail polish. Can you wear nail polish?”

As I was quickly learning, the best response to Tabby’s monologues was smiling and nodding. I did both and she grinned.

“Great. See you tomorrow, sparky.”

When the library door closed behind her, I dropped my magazine and stretched out on the couch. Late afternoon shadows danced on the ceiling as clouds ran from the winter sun.

Closing my eyes, I focused on my dad.

Nothing.

With the exceptions of my dad and Delilah—who, after our heart-to-heart, had blocked her location as well—I’d discovered that all I had to do was think of someone to know where they were and what they were doing. Mostly it was like flipping television channels from one boring reality show to the next.

The minimal, voyeuristic enjoyment of spying on people faded quickly, then died a fiery death when I saw something I couldn’t unsee. I’d never look at Adam or the Sapphire Mage named Molly the same way again.

My range, I’d learned, was also limited by memory. I couldn’t find Liberati-Bald-Guy because a certain level of physical detail was required. No doubt I’d recognize him if I saw him again, but I couldn’t recall enough specifics to get a read on his location. My only lead was Rosie, who I checked in on every few hours. She was still driving.

Where are you going, Rosie?

As much as I wanted to believe she was innocent, I was beginning to see her in a new light. For one, she’d dyed her brown hair blond, and instead of her usual pants and blouses, was now rocking flirty skirts and tank tops. If she was working for the Liberati, I hoped she was driving straight to Bald Guy. Or straight off a cliff.

I had yet to revisit the future. Given my apparent proclivity for thrashing and screaming, I wasn’t looking forward to another episode. Moreover when I had read the transcripts from my ravings, none of them had made a lick of sense.

My favorite Cassandra-moment of the bunch was, “Watch clock ticking time, four pulses mine.” I’d repeated that delightful phrase thirty-seven times.

The rest of it was like that, too. Gibberish.

My dreams, on the other hand, were unusually vivid. I rarely recalled details upon waking, except for the strange sensation of having experienced something that hadn’t happened yet. Only one dream stayed with me—the only one I was positive was of my own making.

And speaking of the devil . . .

Dark, radiant power grazed my senses, vibrating against my skin and quickening my pulse. I wondered, not for the first time, if he knew his power manifested visibly as wings, black and embilished with winking starlight. I didn't think so.

Nor was there anyone who could corroborate my story, as I was the only one who could see the effect. His was the first visible vampiric aura I had encountered; like shifters, until now I’d based a vampire’s strength on how hard of a punch their presence landed on my senses.