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Lainie ignored it until shards of rain started pattering her bedroom floor, puddling on the wood. With a tired sigh, she pushed to a stand. She closed her window,
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then reached for a candle and walked tiredly through the house toward the front door.
A burst of wind extinguished her light, left her in a solid blackness. Leaves swirled at her feet, riveted to her shins. The open door thumped against the wall, rain hammered the wooden floors, collected in a silvery puddle.
She dropped her useless candle and tried to close the door. It wouldn't budge. Frowning, she gripped the brass knob more tightly and tried again.
Nothing. She couldn't move it.
Thunder cracked across the heavens and a white-hot bolt of lightning snaked through the clouds and hit Kelly's swing set in a shower of sparks.
Something caught Lainie's eye. Almost involuntarily, she moved into the doorway. Wind smacked her in the face, tangled in her hair. Rain slashed her cheeks and plastered her sweater to her skin.
Lightning struck again, illuminated the backyard in a series of jerking, staccato bursts.
There was something beside the swing set, a huge, hulking shadow.
She felt a sudden burst of fear and thought about slamming the door shut. Yesterday, she would have done just that, would have hidden beneath her bed and called the police. But today she was different. Stronger, somehow.
She took a tentative step forward, moved into the pulsing vortex of the storm. Whooshing wind yanked at her clothing, pulled her hair, and made her eyes water. Rain blurred her vision, but still she moved forward.
The shadow moved. A low, throaty growl came from that direction.
It was an animal in pain.
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Lainie ran toward the swing set, her booted feet sliding through the rain-soaked grass.
The first thing she saw when she got close was the black hump of an oilskin duster, then a flash of lavender light.
Her breath caught. Hope slammed through her body, brought her to a dead stop. Her bones melted and she dropped to her knees. "K-Killian?" she whispered his name, so softly even she couldn't hear it above the droning whine of the rain.
He groaned and rolled over. Rain pattered his face, ran in rivulets down his cheeks.
Magically, the storm stopped. Dark gray rain clouds scudded across the sky. A full, blue-white moon peered down at them, cast them in sparkling light. Raindrops clung to the grass like a million fallen stars.
His eyes fluttered open. Their gazes locked, and in his eyes she saw it all, everything she'd ever wanted and needed and prayed to find.
She couldn't talk past the lump in her throat. She made a quick sobbing sound and bit down on her lower lip, afraid to believe in him, terrified not to.
"I'm real, Lainie."
Tentatively, she reached out. At the first touch of fabric against her fingertips, relief moved through her in a shuddering wave.
With a broken sob, she ran her hands across his chest, feeling for the stickiness of the blood, waiting for the wheezing pull of a pain-filled breath. He felt so strong and solid and real. She couldn't
get enough of touching him.
"It's gone," he whispered, and she could hear the wonder in his voice. "I might be dead in 1896, but I'm alive now." He gave her a slow, crooked grin. "There is a God."
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"I'll never doubt that again." She threw her arms around his huge, wet body and molded herself to him, kissing every patch of skin she could find.
Laughing softly, he pushed her back and stood up, drawing her beside him. Then he lifted his hand. In the callused palm lay the amethyst, its oval surface glowing with magical, iridescent light. As they watched, the light diminished, sank back into the faceted surface of the gem. Then the golden filigree lost its color, faded into the flesh tone of his hand.
