AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Michael had once told her a fledging vampire had to return to home ground and find something of the past to carry with them through eternity—a reminder of everything they once were, and everything they had lost. If Rachel were alive, then some family heirloom of her mother's would be missing. MacEwan frowned. “Why?"
"Because it'll mean she survived the turning process and is out there somewhere." MacEwan scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “There was no sign of a struggle in her bedroom, you know. No blood."
Which might only mean the vampire who'd turned Rachel had cleaned up after himself.
"You're wrong,” he continued. “You have to be."
Though his voice was harsh, Nikki saw the anguish in his brown eyes. Despite his words, MacEwan believed her. He'd seen Monica rise from the dead and had battled against the zombies. He knew what Rachel's turning meant. Knew what he would eventually have to do.
"For Sondra's sake, I hope I am,” she said softly. It wouldn't be the first time, and it was always possible she'd somehow read the images wrong. Though her gut feeling was that this time she hadn't. Sondra returned, carrying three glasses. Nikki accepted her drink with a smile, but the cool lemonade did little to ease the dryness in her throat.
MacEwan took a plastic bag from his pocket and tossed it to her. Her fingers tingled as she caught it, and wisps of color danced before her eyes, images that were unfocused but strong, even through the plastic. This one could be bad , she thought, but she really had no other choice. Not if she wanted to find Matthew alive.
She opened the bag. Sensations flooded her. Heat and color and sound became thick threads she could reach out and touch. They flowed like music around her, and every fiber of her being thrummed to their tune. The watch burned into her skin, and her senses leapt away, following the rainbow-colored trail back to Matthew.
But she didn't just see the resonances of past events. This time, she could feel his thoughts, see what he saw.
This time, she became one with him.
Chapter Five
The room was black. He couldn't see anything, not even a small crack of light. Matthew scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand. For the moment, he didn't mind the darkness. It meant no one could see he'd been crying.
He hadn't seen Lizzie since they'd dragged him from the trunk of the car and down a long series of steps to this room. He'd been hot and sweaty and thirsty, but he hadn't said anything. Just curled up in one corner of the bed like a scared animal.
Matthew sniffed. No wonder the guys at school hated him. They must have known what a coward he was.
Beyond the darkness of his room, he heard footsteps. He hugged his knees tighter and wished he'd listened to his mom. At least then he'd be home—though if his dad was there, drunk and beating up on her again, he was probably better off here.
The footsteps stopped. He stared into the darkness, his heart pounding in his ears. A door opened, and light flooded the room. He threw up a hand to protect his eyes.
"Matthew Kincaid, I gather."
He swallowed. He didn't like the sound of that voice. It was low pitched and hollow, as if the stranger spoke from the bottom of a deep well.
"Yes?” he said, his own voice high and shaky. He squinted but couldn't see anything more than a shadow. A big shadow—with wheels.
"You made several claims to Elizabeth. I hope they are true." Elizabeth? Did he mean Lizzie? Matthew edged further into the corner. “Who are you?"
"No one you should fear if you told the truth."
"I did, I really did. Except for my age."
"For your sake, I hope so. Elizabeth? Make our young friend a little more ... comfortable, will you?" The door closed, leaving him in blackness again. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and wished he'd had the courage to ask for a drink.
"How are you feeling, Matthew?"
He yelped and scrambled down to the far end of the bed, hands shaking as he stared into the darkness. The voice had come from right beside his bed, yet he couldn't see anyone.
"Relax. I mean you no harm."
He edged further away. “I don't believe you."
"You wanted to come here. You wanted to see Yellowstone with me, remember?"
"This isn't Yellowstone."
"No. But we're close. We could go there soon—tomorrow perhaps."
