AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hope's husband. Karl Marsten. Of all the werewolves in the American Pack, Karl's the only one who spooks me. But Hope can handle him, and the fact that she only sighed at his growling told me she was in rough shape.
"She's still having the visions," Karl said after he'd confiscated the phone.
"What visions?" I asked.
He ignored the question. "I know Elena thinks it's just a difficult pregnancy, but this is more than hormones. Hope isn't sleeping. At all. These aren't the nightmares of a stressed pregnant woman. They're visions, and until she figures out what they mean, she's going to keep having them."
As an Expisco, Hope did see visions--usually replays of past chaos.
"What's she seeing?" I asked.
He hesitated, and I expected him to snap at Jaime to take him off the speaker. Clearly Jaime already knew what was going on here, and Karl didn't have time for me right now. He never does. When he did continue, it told me just how worried he was.
"Flashes of images. The same ones over and over. Wolves. A baby. Jasper Haig."
"Okay," I said slowly. "Nightmares about wolves and babies when she's pregnant with a werewolf's child?"
"Yes, yes. It does sound like pregnancy jitters but--"
"And dreaming of the psycho who's hell-bent on coming for her if he ever gets out of Cortez Cabal custody? If I was pregnant, I'd worry about everything that could threaten my child. Jaz is a threat."
"Of which I am well aware." Karl's tone made me shut my mouth so fast my teeth clicked. "She's seeing other images, too. A little boy. A laboratory. A meeting room filled with young people. Images with no obvious chaotic connection. Yet they're scaring her and she doesn't know why. She's seeing you, too."
"Me?"
"Yes. And a sword. She sees Savannah and a glowing sword."
"Um, that might not be . . ." Jaime's voice came over the rustle of her dressing. She paused, then cleared her throat. "Could she be seeing Eve?"
"With a sword?" I said.
"Not specifically." Jaime hurried on. "Heaven and hell, angels and demons, swords and brimstone. Generic afterlife imagery. Anyway it does seem that Hope's really having visions. Karl? I'm guessing you want me to run this past Eve and--"
A rap at the door told Jaime it was time for her hair and makeup. She came out from behind the screen, resplendent in a golden brown dress, and told Karl she'd call him later to discuss it. I said good-bye to Hope, wishing her better dreams, and promised to send some of Paige's sleeping tea.
four
Some theaters have box seats that Jaime reserves for friends and investors. This one didn't, which meant mingling with masses. There are always a few extra seats in a "sold-out" show, and she managed to find us a pair together. The single beside Adam stayed empty until five minutes before the curtain, when a woman barreled down the aisle, and into our row, not giving anyone a chance to stand and make more room.
People come to Jaime's show for two reasons: entertainment and reassurance. In the latter case, they've lost a loved one, and they're hoping for proof that their dearly departed still lives, in some form, somewhere. So 95 percent of the audience is happy to be there. The laughter and excited whispers that night were so contagious, they even made me feel better.
But part of the audience has been dragged in by a friend or spouse. Glance around and you can see them, slouching in their seats, like sullen children in church, determined not to enjoy themselves, no matter how entertaining the show might be.
The woman coming down the aisle had that same look on her face. But she was alone, meaning no companion had forced her here. That could mean only one thing. She had been forced. By an assignment.
Local media? Member of the theater board? Consumer watchdog?
Any of the above fit. She was in her late twenties. Chanel jacket. Gucci shoes. Prada bag. None of it matched and none of it suited her, the choices of someone who knows labels but not fashion.
When the woman finally reached her seat, she double-checked the number. Then she noticed Adam sitting in the next seat beside hers, and her scowl evaporated in a smile.
"Is this D-22?" she asked him, though it was clearly engraved on the arm.
"Looks like it," he said.
She smiled wider. Then she turned and shrugged off her jacket, shaking her booty just a little too close to Adam's face.
"It's going to be late when we get out of here," I said. "We should probably grab a hotel room for the night."
