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I tried to keep my eyes open, but it was pointless. I couldn’t even see my hands through all of the silt in the water. I felt my way to the window and tried to worm my way out, but all I could feel was mud. My lungs began to burn from holding my breath, and I scrabbled frantically at the mud, trying to dig a way through. Horror flared through me again. This was the riverbed. There was no getting out that way.
My lungs screamed for breath, and I pushed up again to find the air pocket. Only about an inch of air remained, and I pressed my face against the carpet and sucked in one more breath. The front windshield. Stay calm. You can get out that way. I reached for my gun again, fingers fumbling on the empty holster as dread filled me. Fucking shit! I’d dropped it? Or maybe it hadn’t been fully in the holster?
The pocket of air was gone now. Red haze began to creep in on the edges of my vision. I’m going to die, I realized with a sick jolt. I’d faced certain death once before, but this time I didn’t feel any calm acceptance. This time I felt terror and anger and everything else. I wanted to scream in rage, but I wasn’t ready to give up that lungful of air just yet. The red burned across my vision, and then, without realizing it, I shifted into othersight.
I hung motionless in the water, shocked to my bones at the stunning wash of potency that swirled around me and the car. For a blinding instant I thought that the entire incident with the car going into the river had been an arcane attack, then I realized what I was seeing.
It was the river. The power of the raw element—a potency that I had never used before, never even been able to see before. I was accustomed to using the potency that formed the fabric of the planes, a power that felt sweet and hot and elegant. But this … this potency was raw and profound, and I could see how someone could be swept away in it.
I steeled myself and pulled at that potency.
It resisted me at first. It knew that I had no experience in drawing that sort of power—didn’t deserve to hold it, to shape it. But I didn’t want to shape it. I wasn’t looking for anything elegant or pretty, not now when I had only seconds left. I pulled harder, and then it felt as if a dam burst. It came crashing in on me and I opened myself to it, feeling it rage into my control, beyond my control. I gathered it clumsily, as much as I could bear. The river shrieked through me, churning and foaming as I pulled.
And then I pushed. As hard as I could. Pushed the power away from me in a wave. I felt and heard metal and wood and plastic twisting and tearing. I could feel myself screaming, using that last breath, forcing it all out as the power surged around me, swirling into a vortex.
And then I could push no more. I had no more air, no more power. I floated in the water, completely spent and out of air, the ruins of the car swirling around me.
And then the river pushed. I felt it crush into me, forcing me up and up. I suddenly burst above the surface, as if the river had birthed me. I took a dragging gasp of air, catching a small wave and inhaling water as well. I coughed, struggling to tread water with limbs that had no strength. I could see the bridge and the bank, but I couldn’t get my body to respond. Too far. I don’t have anything left to make it to the bank. The current grabbed at me, pulling me toward the center. My arms felt like lead weights, dragging me back under. Shit, so close.
The water closed over my head again, but before I could sink any farther, I felt a hard yank at my hair. My head broke the surface and I let out a choked gasp of pain.
“I gotcha!” I heard a voice shout. “God damn it, I gotcha!” The grip on my hair quickly shifted to my arm and collar, and I was dragged over the hard metal edge of a boat, scraping my ribs and belly. I landed in a tumbled and ungainly heap against a tangle of fishing poles and empty beer cans, as I struggled for a full breath. “You all right?” the voice asked. “Was there anyone else in the car?”
I held up my hand, still coughing, trying to nod and shake my head all at the same time. I finally took an uneven breath. “No … no one else,” I managed to choke out. “Just me.” My eyes felt clogged with silt, and when I could finally breathe without agony, I focused on wiping them enough to look up at my savior.
Good ole boy was the first thing that popped to mind. He looked like he was in his sixties, dressed in stained jeans and a frayed white T-shirt. He had the deep leathery tan of someone who spent his days out in the sun and a wiry build with just a bit of flab around the midsection. He crouched next to me in the boat. “Y’sure no one else was in the car with you?” he asked again.
“Quite sure,” I rasped. “I was by myself.”
He relaxed visibly. “That’s good. I saw the whole damn thing, saw the car go off the bridge. I was at the bend up there,” he said, waving a hand in the general direction of upriver. “Got over here as fast as I could, but that car went under fast.” He shook his head. “Good thing the river decided to spit you out,” he said, giving me a grin.
I smiled weakly. That’s about what it felt like.
He looked up toward the bridge, shading his eyes with a hand. “I heard a bang, then saw that truck just plow right into you. Next thing I knew, you was toppling right on over.” He scowled, then pulled a cell phone out of a plastic bag in his tackle box. He glanced down at me. “You a cop?”
I nodded, feeling the effort of even that much movement. “Detective. Beaulac PD.”
“Hunh. Make all sorts of enemies as a cop. I was a deputy with St. Tammany for more than thirty years. Retired now. Get to fish all I want.” His eyes swept over the river, and I could see what I knew was plain old naked love. He dialed 911 and gave the dispatcher a brief rundown of the incident. He glanced down at me. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
“Kara Gillian.”
He relayed my name and told the dispatcher that he’d meet them at the landing by the bridge. A few minutes later, I felt the boat crunch up against sand, and he leaped deftly out and pulled it farther up. I stood as soon as I was marginally stable, though my legs were still insanely wobbly. But he grabbed my hand in his thick, calloused one and practically lifted me to the bank. I gave him a smile of thanks and then staggered two steps to a spot on the bank that was reasonably rock-free and sank to sit. Holy crap, I’m not dead. I looked back at the bridge, wanting to laugh and shiver at the same time. Did someone want me dead, or was that an accident? I hugged my arms around myself, then shifted into othersight and looked at where my car had gone in the water. The truck had hit me twice. Tough to believe that was an accident.
I could see none of the incredible potency of the river that had surrounded me before. Was it because I didn’t need it anymore? No way to know, but I knew the river was just a river now. I wonder if they’ll be able to get my car out. And what they’ll think of the damage to it. I’d barely been able to make a blue glow in my hand back at my aunt’s house, but just a few minutes ago I’d harnessed and controlled enough potency to rip a car into pieces.
And even that might not have been enough if the old fisherman hadn’t been nearby.
I turned back to him. “Thank you,” I said. “I don’t even know your name.”
He smiled, a nice, friendly, open smile. “Raimer. Hilery Raimer.”
“I’ll remember that name.”
He nodded and looked back at the river. “Y’wanna hear somethin’ strange? You’re gonna think I’m crazy.…”
“I’m the last person to call anyone crazy,” I said with a weak grin.
He gave a small snort of laughter. “Funniest thing … ’bout five minutes before your car went into the river, I was anchored around the curve. Never woulda seen your car go in, and even if I’d heard it, I never woulda got here in time.” He shook his head. “But I coulda sworn I heard a lady yelling at me.” He glanced at me, uncertainty flickering across his face.
