Fear spiraled in the boy’s wake. As the current pushed down toward her, Tara waited for him to appear.
“It’s you!” he shouted upon seeing her.
Waves from his flight down the stairs crashed over her. She knew there was nothing to fear, not here, not in this hotel. She’d explored its halls, trailing her fingertips along the walls. Whispers came to her, but she could not hear them clearly. Voices from too long ago. Stronger were the trails left by Allie Jo. The girl’s presence was everywhere.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s me.”
Rushes of air curled around him, settling at his feet like dust.
“Come,” she said. Without glancing back, she ascended the stairs. She knew he would follow.
Pushing open a scuffed door with a hand-painted 3 on it, she led him onto the third floor.
“Cool!” the boy said after the panel shut behind them. “Look! You can’t even see the door when it’s closed.”
She smiled to herself. He lacked much in vision.
“This is where I saw you before,” the boy said. “You know, where I broke my arm.” He gestured wildly as he spoke; energy rolled off him in sparks. “Thanks for helping me, by the way.”
Looking up, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“What’s your name?” she quickly asked.
“Chase.” He fell silent for a moment. “Where are we going?”
They’d gone far down the hall, almost to the end. A light path ran the length of the hall where carpet once lay. Circular scrapes marred the heart-of-pine flooring. Shadows of beauty crossed in the air but were lost in the true vision: dead roaches lying on their backs; paint peeling, hanging from the walls like ribbons. Some walls had been hacked, exposing the heartwood that supported the hotel.
She bent down and ran her fingers over a deep gouge.
His eyes widened with recognition. “That’s what tripped me up! I fell there”—he glanced at her—“right?”
Tara nodded.
She stood, and he rose, looking up at her like a pup.
“So what are you doing?” He jumped around her. “You want to explore this place? It’s got all kinds of secret rooms.”
Stiffening, she remembered the secret room the man had locked her in. There had been no windows, but she could see well in the dark. No, it wasn’t the darkness that had bothered her; it was his plans that scared her—plans he spoke of with great excitement and agitation. When two days had passed, she heard him leave, and she splintered the door open with one powerful kick.
The boy before her now was speaking of secret rooms. She tipped her head and observed him. “What is it you seek?”
“ ‘Seek?’ ” The boy laughed. “You kind of have an accent. Where are you from?”
Words—she must be more careful with them. It was best not to use too many, she realized, at least until she learned to speak as they did. But she liked him; she felt a kindred spirit in him.
“Irish,” she said. “Scottish.” She remembered the waves of the deep, surging and cresting, the joy she felt in their power.
The boy smiled. “I’m part Irish too!”
Black Irish, she thought. Dark hair and blue eyes. She had chosen right in this boy. His aura was good.
A breeze fluttered through her hair, lifting the ends. The other one was coming. She waited expectantly.