Falling Light Part 7

"During your summer off, you can sleep as much as you like," he said. A slight smile softened the hard line of his mouth.

"There are no alarm clocks on that beach," she told him. "n.o.body hurries anywhere, because nothing urgent is happening. The most pressing thing I have to decide is whether I want a margarita or a mai tai. And all is right with the world." She sighed. "It doesn't matter where it is. The Bahamas, Mexico, Hawaii-I'm ready to go. Right now."

"I am too."

In an abrupt movement that startled her, he signaled and pulled into the parking lot of a liquor store at one end of a strip mall. Then he put the Jeep into park. With the engine idling, he crossed his arms over the top of the steering wheel and leaned forward to rest his chin on them. His light eyes moved over the scene.

She waited, her gaze moving from Michael to the nearby shops and the traffic that sped past them. Finally, she asked, "What now, Mister Enigmatic?"

"You keep calling me that," he murmured. Thoughts s.h.i.+fted behind those steely eyes.

"I don't mean it in a bad way," she told him. She grinned. "Not anymore. I'm getting used to you turning all silent and mysterious. I think more caffeine might be a good idea. Do you mind if I buy more c.o.ke while you use your spidey sense or inner periscope, or whatever it is that you've got?"

She gestured to the vending machines located outside the liquor store.

He swept the parking lot and the immediate area again with that sharp, a.s.sessing gaze. "Okay."

"Want one?"

"Sure."

She dug in her purse for change, climbed out of the Jeep and walked the short distance to the vending machines. Gray clouds mottled the sky. The temperature had turned sharp and chilly, while a brisk breeze blew off the nearby Lake and tugged at loose tendrils of her hair. She had been uncomfortable earlier in the heat of the day, but now she was grateful she was wearing the flannel s.h.i.+rt.

Her nerves jangled from the turmoil she sensed in the psychic realm. She felt exposed standing outside, even though she knew Michael was not more than thirty feet away and aware of her every move. Getting the c.o.ke had been as much an act of bravado as practicality, but the small sanctuary of the Jeep suddenly seemed too far away. She grabbed the two cans and jogged back.

Once she'd climbed back inside, Michael said, "I'm sensing psychic movement in the direction of all the northern towns and cities, especially the closest ones-Petoskey, Charlevoix, Norwood and Traverse City. He's concentrating on the ports. I'll bet that all the local airports and landing strips are being watched too. There's also a concentration of some kind of energy ma.s.s on I-75, in the direction of the Mackinac Bridge. He will have set up a roadblock on the bridge."

Her stomach muscles tightened as a now-familiar sense of dread washed over her. The five-mile-long Mackinac Bridge spanned the Straits of Mackinac. It was the only route they could travel by car to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A roadblock on I-75 meant they had been correct. The Deceiver did have powerful contacts in the police force. They had already been acting as if he had, but somehow it seemed worse to have their deductions confirmed.

"He's done all of that already?" she asked in dismay. "It's barely been twelve hours since we left the cabin."

Michael shook his head. "I'll bet a lot of this is something he set in motion earlier. It's what I would have done if I were chasing someone who appeared to be traveling north on 131. It's a logical strategy. Work to cut off the exit points, then quarter the area and search section by section."

They fell silent for a few moments. She asked, "What about that thing you can do-the null s.p.a.ce?"

"That will get us farther than we could get without it," he replied. "But it won't get us past any roadblocks."

She stuffed his can of c.o.ke into a drink holder. "I guess this might be the worse-before-it-gets-better part."

"Something like that." He rubbed his eyes. He looked as tired as she felt.

"Where are we trying to go, anyway?" she asked. "I keep meaning to ask, but then something happens."

Michael pointed in a northwestern direction. "Right about there. You know where Beaver Island is?"

"I have a rough idea," she said. Beaver Island was located almost directly north from Grand Traverse Bay and south of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. If she remembered right, it was barely more than a one-town island. She'd always thought the remote location sounded like the perfect place for a quiet vacation.

"There's a cl.u.s.ter of smaller islands around it. Astra lives on one of them. We need a boat or a seaplane to get to her. I keep a boat docked at Charlevoix, which is about sixteen or seventeen miles west of Petoskey. I was hoping we could hook up to Highway 31, which follows the coast, and shoot over to Charlevoix to use the boat." He grimaced. "It might be too risky for us to get to it."

She rubbed at her temple where a tension headache had begun to throb. "We could always go to Cancun," she muttered. "You know, try back in a decade or two."

She knew that the Deceiver would never leave them alone for an entire decade. He would keep hunting until he found and destroyed them. She also knew Michael would never consent to hide while his enemy was loose in the world committing atrocities. And she knew her own conscience wouldn't allow her to hide for that long either.

She was being truculent and illogical and unrealistic, and she didn't care. She popped open her can of c.o.ke and glared at it.

He glanced at her. "I was actually thinking about traveling south again. Not as far south as Mexico, of course. But there are smaller towns dotting the entire Michigan coastline, and almost all of them have marinas. Unless he has a good portion of the U.S. Army invade Michigan, there's no way he can watch all of those ports. All he can do is patrol the water and the coastal highways."

"Why can't Astra come to us?" The image of that frail, elderly body stretched on a narrow bed came back to her. She gritted her teeth. "Never mind. She can't."

"No, she can't," he agreed. "So, south it is."

He put the Jeep in reverse, backed out of the parking s.p.a.ce and s.h.i.+fted into drive. Then he accelerated-directly into a transparent, blurred figure that appeared in front of the Jeep.

Mary cried out sharply, even as Michael slammed on the brakes. He was too late, and the car pa.s.sed through Nicholas's ghost.

Mary had accidentally pa.s.sed through Nicholas's ghost once before, and she felt it again, that sensation of warmness, of a strong male presence.

And just as she had before, she flashed on a knife rising on the periphery of his/her vision. He/she turned to combat the threat. The knife snaked out, and fiery pain flared at his/her throat. Wetness gushed down his/her front. He/she fell to his/her knees. . . .

Just as quickly as the vision hit her, it disappeared again. She was fully back in her own body, in the parking lot with Michael.

"Jesus," she said. Belatedly, she realized that she had spilled c.o.ke over her flannel s.h.i.+rt and jeans. She set the can in her drink holder, fingers shaking.

"It's all right," Michael said. "It was just Nicholas."

She stared at him. He looked calm and unaffected. Either he hadn't pa.s.sed through any part of Nicholas, or he hadn't gotten any vision when he had. He pulled into another parking s.p.a.ce, unbuckled his seat belt and stepped outside.

She followed him out, walking around the hood of the Jeep to where Michael stood. As she reached Michael's side, Nicholas reappeared in front of them.

The ghost was easier to see than he had been early this morning. In full suns.h.i.+ne, he was barely a glimmer. Now the strong, powerful lines of his body were distinct in the gray, cloudy evening.

He looked at Mary and seemed to hesitate. Had he felt something when she'd seen his death? She shuddered, hoping he would never ask, and Michael put a bracing arm around her shoulders.

"What is it?" Michael asked. "What's happened?"

Michael and Nicholas had been, if not friends, at least colleagues. She might have frowned at Michael's abrupt att.i.tude, except that she saw how his gaze traveled over the scene again. He was as wary as she was of staying in one spot for too long.

Astra sent me with a message for you, Nicholas said. She said she knows of the traps the enemy has set for you. Don't turn away from your course. Don't turn south. Push through their barriers, and move quickly, because she is calling in all of her favors and sending help.

Mary waited expectantly for more, but instead of saying anything further, Nicholas fell silent.

She muttered, "Was that meant to be cryptic, or is it just me?"

The ghost said to Michael, She said that you would understand.

Michael's arm tightened on her shoulders. He glanced down at her, and he looked grimmer than ever. He said, "I do." He looked north. "We don't have time to try to play it safe and go south. We need to go into Petoskey and get a boat. We'd better hurry. There's a h.e.l.l of a storm coming our way."

"And getting on a boat right now is supposed to be a good thing?" She looked between Michael and Nicholas doubtfully. "I'm pretty sure I'm missing something important here, because usually people like to get off the water when there's a h.e.l.l of a storm coming their way."

Michael said, "If we go south we won't be able to get on the water in time to take advantage of the cover she's offering. When it hits, the storm will be the dominant image on any radar systems, and it will help to disguise our presence from pursuers. It will also drive police patrols to dock until it has pa.s.sed."

"It still sounds awfully risky," she said.

Michael nodded. "It is. So is going south."

"But if we go south, you can do the null s.p.a.ce thing while we're on the boat, right?"

"Yes, but I can't project the effect onto long-distance radar equipment," he said. He lifted one broad shoulder. "Going north or going south-there's going to be dangers and risks either way. What do you want to do? Whatever we decide, we'd better do it quickly. We shouldn't keep standing here. If we don't move north fast enough, we may not be able to get out on the water in time."

A sharp gust of wind hit them. She s.h.i.+vered as she said, "I don't know. . . ."

Nicholas interrupted her. My father is dying.

Her mouth snapped shut. She and Michael stared at the ghost. She said softly, "Oh, d.a.m.n. I'm so sorry."

Michael asked, "What happened?"

The ghost seemed to shake his head. I don't know. He was already unconscious when I reached him. All I know is that he is on the island, and Astra has said that she can't do anything for him. His glimmering, dark eyes fixed on Mary. But perhaps you could, if you reached him in time.

Nicholas had come to help her, unasked, when she had been running alone and terrified in the forest. She didn't even have to think about it. "Of course," she said, instinctively reaching a hand out toward him even though he was insubstantial. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

Nicholas raised his own hand, as if he would clasp hers.

But he couldn't, of course, because he was dead.

Unless she could do something about that too.

That morning, she had examined two men whose souls were dead, although their bodies were still active and dangerous. Drones, Michael called them. Their spirits were gone, and there was no way to recall them. She could even see how the Deceiver had killed the spirits but left the bodies animate and functional. The long, slas.h.i.+ng psychic scar on both drones had been clearly visible to her mind's eye.

While here she looked at a ghost of a courageous and extraordinary man who had not deserved to die.

She bit her lip. What she was considering did not seem as chilling as it had the first time it had occurred to her. She wasn't sure what that said about her. In the next breath, she decided she didn't care.

Because on the one hand, there was one man who did not deserve to be dead. While on the other hand, the Deceiver had created so many drones that no longer deserved to live.

"I have something I want to discuss with you," she said to Nicholas.

"That's going to have to wait," Michael said. He turned her around and propelled her toward the front of the Jeep. "Either that or we'll have to talk about it on the road, because we've got to get moving."

I must return to my father while I can, said Nicholas. I will see you on the island, and we can talk there. Safe journey.

"And to you," Michael said.

Nicholas vanished.

They were right, of course. She loped around to the pa.s.senger side of the Jeep and climbed in.

Michael slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he said, "What did you want to discuss with Nicholas?"

"He's very present and remarkably lucid for a ghost, isn't he?" She chewed on a thumbnail as she thought.

"Yes, he is." Michael accelerated into a gap of traffic. "Some ghosts are fragments of personality, or traumatized by what happened to them, and most don't stay long after their death. Nicholas is different. He is whole and present, at least for now. Maybe after he loses his sense of mission or responsibility, he will pa.s.s on too."

"But what if he doesn't pa.s.s on?" There, she said it.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. "If the Deceiver can take over another person's body, why can't someone else do it too?"

He stared at her. "What are you talking about? None of us have done that, ever."

She rushed on, the words tumbling over one another. "Of course, I'm not talking about taking over a person who is alive and aware. That would be murder. I'm talking about people who are already dead-the drones. Their bodies are functional, but the spirit is gone. This morning when I examined those two men, I got to thinking, if the Deceiver can take over a drone, why can't someone else do it too? It would be like-like organ harvesting. Sort of. Wouldn't it?"

After his initial reaction, he looked quite alert and fascinated, without any sign of the revulsion she had feared. "You're thinking of trying something like that for Nicholas."

She lifted a shoulder. "I haven't had a chance to think any of this through, and there's a lot to consider. Many of those drones must have some kind of family. Either they are pretending to live their normal lives, or they've left their families behind. Or maybe they have criminal records. After all, they're doing things at the Deceiver's bidding. And who knows how Nicholas would feel about any of this? Even if he agreed, I think he would have to live in hiding for the rest of his life . . . or for the rest of the life span of the drone he inhabited."

He gave her a keen glance. "But you still want to offer him the chance."

"Yes."

"And you could help him enter the body and take it over?"

She blew out a breath. "I don't know, but I think I would like to try, if he would let me."

"If you could resurrect him, then Nicholas would really be back in the game."

"Or not," she said strongly. "He's sacrificed enough. If I could do it, he might want to retire, and he deserves that chance."

"You don't know Nicholas. He wouldn't be able to stay uninvolved. For one thing, his murderer hasn't been caught." Michael grinned. "It's never dull, is it?"

"No, it never is," she said. She made a wry face. "Even if we manage to destroy the Deceiver, we'll never live any kind of normal life. Or at least what other people consider normal."

"We'll have to achieve our own kind of normal." His big hand covered hers. She turned her hand over and clasped his.

"That's a deal," she told him. "In the meantime, honey, would you mind picking up a drone for me whenever you can?"

He laughed softly. "Just as soon as an opportunity presents itself."

Chapter Nine.