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“Well, if you’re not going to come out so I can see you…so that we can talk…” She swallowed hard, scarcely able to believe she was actually asking to see the bloody thing. “Then I’m just going to have to continue packing.”
She threw the last of the makeup into the purse. All that was left was her hairbrush and her travel-sized perfume atomizer. She shoved the atomizer into the makeup purse, then picked up the brush and ran it through her hair.
As she did, she heard a sound behind her. A sound like she had never heard before, and it sent a chill down her spine. Her hand froze in midair, her stomach balling. Static clung in the atmosphere. The sound grew louder, and it whispered around the room like it came from far away, like an echo. A feeling somewhere between excitement and dread came over her. Someone was trying to say her name, and it sounded like a child who couldn’t talk properly, barely audible.
Zoeeee?
Zoë lowered the hairbrush in her hand. As she did, a shadowy movement in the reflected mirror caught her eye.
It was her, Annabel, just as before, except this time she seemed much more solid. Zoë shut her eyes quickly and reopened them. Annabel was still there. In fact she seemed a little closer, as if she wasn’t in the mirror at all. No. It couldn’t be. But it was. Zoë could hear Grayson moving around downstairs, but she was unable to do anything, not call or cry out, as the ghostly figure moved closer and then drifted right across her.
She stared at the dresser mirror as the ghost walked right through her. Was it a trick of the light?
No, because as Annabel merged with her, she felt something like pinpricks all over her skin, and an intense of wave of heat washed over her. Her own image all but disappeared, and for one horrible moment everything that had happened the night before up in the forest flashed through her mind.
She’s come for me. She’s really inside me, now.
Her heart all but stopped.
Annabel paused, and then moved on, and the heat left Zoë in a rush.
Her heart thundered on.
Stopping close by, Annabel smiled back at her.
That was too weird. Zoë was relieved she’d moved on, but she couldn’t bring herself to return the smile. She was well and truly spooked. Remembering that the vision had disappeared when she looked directly back, she turned around quickly.
Shit.
Annabel’s g
host was standing right behind her, a mere three feet away. She was looking down at Zoë, as if intrigued. The feeling was mutual. Zoë could scarcely breathe, nor could she blink while she took in the sight before her. Never in all the visions or dreams had Annabel seemed as real as this.
Her eyes appeared like black coins and her face was so pale it was almost transparent. Her black hair hung messily around her face. The gown she wore was ripped and tattered and singed.
The skirt was singed.
Zoë put her hand over her mouth when she realized she could smell burning.
Annabel lifted one hand, gesturing in Zoë’s direction, ghostly flames flickering along the underside of her arm.
Zoë could scarcely believe it was happening.
Annabel’s lips moved, but she heard nothing.
“Can you speak?” Zoë swallowed. Bloody hell, she was trying to have a conversation with a ghost. It was one thing having steamy visions, sharing erotic memories and even feeling a presence, but this was something else.
Annabel put her fingers to her mouth and shook her head. Then she touched her forehead and pointed at Zoë’s forehead.
“Right, you haven’t got enough power to appear and talk, but you can speak within my mind, is that right?
Yes.
Zoë nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Okay. Right. Are you Annabel McGraw?” As she asked the question she pressed back against the dresser, her clammy hands grasping at the stool she sat on.
The ghost nodded, her lips parting as she did so.
