Age of Aquarius Page 12

  Emotion wasn’t something I liked to display often, so I attempted to ignore the lump rising in my throat. I coughed to disguise my choking up. “Well, you know, for a pocket-sized boss lady, you’re not that bad yourself.” I rose to my feet, too. “I’m always willing to be a sounding board. And you know that despite everything, you’re one of the only people I’d follow into the dark.”

  Cathryn nodded. “I’m afraid there’s going to be a good deal of dark before that joy comes in the morning, Rafe. Our vessel, wherever she is, could be in very serious danger even as we speak. All we can do is get safely to the place where I hope she’ll find us. We could use some of that joy.”

  Somewhere in Nebraska

  Joy

  “Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.”

  My eyes were screwed shut, and I was muttering that chant inside my head, hoping against hope that the danger would pass by me as though I weren’t there. I sat as still as I could, my back braced up against the rough wooden fence post. Footsteps grew closer to me, and heavy breath sounds accompanied them, amping up my dread.

  “MOO.”

  I jumped, my teeth rattling against themselves. “Go away, you stupid cow! Go.” I ventured to sneak a look at my pursuer. Her wide brown eyes, long-lashed and filled with quiet surprise, stared back at me.

  I let out a long groan. “Seth, wherever you are and whatever the hell you are, I swear, I will never forgive you for leaving me alone to deal with all this crap! This literal crap.” I gagged a little bit. The smell of the cow pasture left a lot to be desired, and I was pretty sure that the mud next to me wasn’t just dirt and water. I’d heard of cow patties before, but I’d never seen one in person. So to speak.

  The cow glanced over her massive shoulder, as though she were listening to someone speaking. To the best of my knowledge, no one was lurking in this particular field except me, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have been here either if I hadn’t caught sight of a familiar face at the bus stop in this little Podunk town in the middle of God only knew where. I was fairly sure that I’d spotted the guy before he’d seen me, so I’d attached myself to a family walking past, sticking with them under the pretense of asking for directions to a nearby church.

  They’d been only too happy to help, even giving me a ride to the small white clapboard chapel on the edge of town.

  “But honey, it isn’t open just now. There’s no one here.” The mother of the family, a woman in her late forties, I thought, had cocked her head and frowned at me in concern.

  “That’s okay.” I’d pasted on a bright smile. “I just need to sit here for a bit and, uh, talk to God. I don’t need to go inside, and I promise, I won’t bother with anything. I’ll sit on the steps and say what I need to say.”

  “Oh, honey, I was only worried about you, not about the building. Nothing you could do to hurt anything, a little thing like you.” She’d grinned. “You have a cell phone, honey? And what’re you going to do once you’re done talking to the good Lord?”

  I’d worked hard to keep my smile in place. “I guess the Lord will provide. Thanks for the ride.”

  So off they’d gone, waving to me, and I’d hoped that they wouldn’t turn out to be the last people to see me alive.

  Once the dust trail from their ancient station wagon had dissipated, I’d hunkered down to have that talk with the big guy. And with Seth. I wasn’t sure how the two were connected, but I knew Seth was more than just a human; he had some kind of tie to a higher power. But just now, to be honest, I was pretty pissed with both of them.

  It had been forty-seven days since I’d left my apartment. Forty-seven days since Norrie and Tom had been murdered. Forty-seven days of me being on the run, moving from town to town, transferring from bus to train at times, always looking over my shoulder in case I was being followed.

  After the first week, I’d begun to relax a little. No one had come after me. No one had attempted to stop me. I’d checked into a cheap motel on the outskirts of a tiny town in the middle of South Dakota and treated myself to a full night of sleep in a real bed. It had been heavenly.

  The next morning, I’d thrown caution to the wind and gone to a small diner near the motel. After I’d ordered my food, I’d headed for the ladies’ room—because, lucky me, at that time I was still enjoying the fun of morning sickness even while on the run from a supernatural being or beings. I’d come out of the bathroom and was returning to my table when I’d heard a voice on the other side of the partition that divided the dining room from the back.

  “Have you seen a girl around here, mid-twenties . . . red hair, green eyes? Pretty thing. She’s pregnant, but you might not be able to tell yet.” The speaker lowered his voice. “She’s my sister, and she ran off when my parents got mad at her for getting knocked up. Name’s Joy.”

  My heart began to pound out of my chest. Shoot. Freak. Gah, what was wrong with me that even during a time of real crisis, I couldn’t manage a few serious swear words? I pivoted on one foot, planning to head back into the rest room when I thought better. The waitress that guy was talking to just might rat me out and say that I was in the bathroom, which would make it the first place he’d look for me. Not a good move.

  Instead, I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. The fry cook, a huge, muscular dude with tattoo-covered arms, looked up at me in surprise.

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here.”

  I held a finger to my lips. “I know. I’m sorry. But listen—I’ve been trying to get away from my boyfriend. He—he’s abusive. He beats me. And he—” Might as well go for broke. “He killed two of my best friends, trying to get to me. I just heard him in the diner. Please, let me go out the back way. I promise you, I’m telling the truth, and my life is in danger.”

  The cook’s face darkened. “The hell, you say. And that guy’s out in my restaurant?” He picked up an enormous meat cleaver from the nearby cutting board. “Listen to me, sister. My truck’s parked just outside this door. It’s unlocked. Go get inside and crouch down so no one can see you. I’m going to take care of that asshole, and then I’ll help you get to wherever you need to go.” He pointed to the door. “My wife used to be married to a son-of-a-bitch like that. I don’t have no time for jerks like him.”

  I didn’t wait for a second invitation. Scurrying out, I saw the truck right as he’d said and dove into the passenger seat. Moments ticked by, during which I’d second-guessed every move I’d made over the past twenty-four hours. Stupid! Checking into the motel. Dumb! Thinking I was safe because I hadn’t seen anyone for a week. I was an idiot.

  It’d seemed like hours passed before the driver’s door opened, but it had only been ten minutes. The cook had leaned in and grinned at me.

  “All taken care of. I held that jerk at knife-point until the cops showed up, and they hauled him away.” He’d paused. “I told them I’d bring you down to the station to give information and explain the whole thing.”

  Crud. “I’m sorry. I really can’t do that. Even with him in custody, I’m not safe. He’s not alone, and I can’t even trust the police. I’m really sorry.” I reached for the door handle. “If you’ll just let me go, I promise I won’t bother you again.”

  “No way.” He’d wrapped his fingers around my wrist, his touch gentle for so large a man. “Listen, I get it. I’ll tell the cops you’d run off when I came out here. But let me help you get somewhere safe. Or at least on the way to some place safe. Train station? Bus depot?”

  I’d chosen the bus, as it had served me well so far, and my cook friend, whose name was Edgar, had left me with a massive bear hug and a fifty-dollar bill he’d pushed into my hand, saying I might need it.

  That had been the last time I’d allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. In the forty days since, I’d kept on the move, ever-vigilant. I’d had some more close calls, but so far, I’d been able to duck the bad guys.

  But I was sick of it, which was why, whe
n the friendly family had left me at the church, I’d decided to take advantage of what I hoped was a direct line to the powers that be and register a few complaints.

  “Seth, I don’t know if you can hear me. Heck, I don’t even know if you’re still alive. Maybe the bad guys ganked you in my apartment after I ran away. But I hope not, because you did save my life and you seem like a pretty decent guy. Anyway, if you can hear me, I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired. I’m actually exhausted, and this being on the run while pregnant is getting old fast. Yeah, the puking slowed down, thanks for that, but now I’m starting to show, and my clothes are getting tight. They’re also so dirty that they’re about to fall off me.”

  The only answer that came was the sound of twittering birds and the rustling of leaves as the breeze blew over me.

  “I don’t know where to go next. I don’t know if it’s safe to stay around here, or if I should be heading one direction or another. I’m just done, Seth. Please, give me some kind of sign.”

  There was still no reply, but after a moment, a mix of both peace and utter fatigue had swept over me. The small porch of the church was protected by an overhang, and I found myself crawling up onto the rag rug in front of the door. I’d curled into a ball and let sleep overtake me.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but it was late afternoon, nearly dusk, when I’d opened my eyes. I was still alone, but I felt amazingly better, as though that rest had infused me with some kind of new energy. I’d stood up, stretching, and as I did, the most incredible thing happened.

  I felt the baby move.

  In the past week or so, I’d had some flutterings that I’d suspected might be movement, but I hadn’t been certain. But now, with my back arched and my skin pulled tight over the small bump, there was no mistaking the actual kick I felt.

  “Hi, baby,” I’d whispered. “Hi. So there you are. Uh . . . don’t be worried, okay? Mama’s got this. I know this is sort of an unorthodox start to life, and maybe you’re wondering if you made the right choice in letting me be your mom, or maybe you’re second-guessing the whole life-on-earth-deal. I get it. It’s scary. But I’m doing all of this to make sure you’re safe. So if you hang in there with me, I promise that by the time you’re ready to join us, everything will be better.”

  I laid one hand gingerly on the tiny rise in my stomach and hoped I could keep that promise. As if in answer, the baby moved again, bumping against my hand.

  I stared down, smiling, and as I did, something on the wooden floor of the porch caught my eye. There was writing in the dust next to the spot where I’d been sitting before I’d fallen asleep. The words were clear, and I knew for sure they hadn’t been there earlier.

  Head west. →

  The arrow was helpful, actually, as I had no earthly clue which direction was west. I was a city girl, and I navigated by street names and landmarks, not by some random points on a compass. And the words themselves . . . I was filled with both relief and jubilation. I wasn’t alone. Someone or something was guiding me, and I had my little traveler with me, too. I was going to be okay. We were going to be okay.

  I’d felt a new spring in my step as I’d left the church and headed west, as instructed. I’d stuck to the road, even as the sun set, anticipation and expectation bubbling inside me. Something was going to happen. Something was going to change tonight.

  And then, just as it had gotten full on dark, I’d heard a sound behind me. My hackles rose, and the impending sense of doom was undeniable. I didn’t know whether to run or to turn around.

  Duck under the fence. Do it now. And then sit very still.

  I’d obeyed the inner voice without hesitation, rolling beneath the lower rung of the fence and settling myself against this post. My eyes, adjusted to the lack of light, had picked up on the hulking figures roaming near me, and terror had gripped me.

  Cows.

  I’d been deathly afraid of cows since I was a little girl. I didn’t know why, unless it stemmed from a field trip in kindergarten, when I’d gotten separated from my class and ended up in the milking barn, which had been filled with huge mooing beasts. Yeah, come to think of it, that probably was the genesis of the phobia.

  But this cow who was gazing at me thoughtfully didn’t seem like she was about to charge or stomp on me. She looked over her shoulder again and bellowed. A few of her sister-beasts began to wander over, and Bessie herself gave a deep sigh and dropped to the ground in front of me, arranging her bulk so that I could barely see over her. The other cows joined us, each of them laying down in turn, forming a barrier between me and the rest of the pasture.

  I blinked back surprised tears. Surely this was just coincidence, right? The cows weren’t trying to hide me. And yet, even as I struggled with doubt, a deep voice reached my ears.

  “Dammit, she was here. I swear to you, Jerry. She was right here.”

  The second man growled. “So what, she just vanished, Albert? Are you stupid? She has to be nearby. She doesn’t have any power. She can’t transport herself. She’s got to be near us.”

  “Maybe somebody came and took her away. You know, someone with power.”

  There was a little silence, as though they were both contemplating that possibility. “Yeah, that might happen. It could be. I sure as hell don’t see her here now, unless she’s hiding under those cows there.”

  Panic spiked in my gut, but then the men laughed, as though the idea of someone hiding under a cow was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard.

  “Yeah, like we’re going to go ducking under all the cows to look. Geez.” Jerry guffawed. “Hey, Albert, you’re sure it was her?”

  “Positive. You said the vessel, right? That’s who we’re after? This was her. I felt the vibes.”

  “Huh. Well, she’s not here now. Let’s go back into the town and see if we can find out anything.”

  I sat still among my bovine sisters, listening to the sound of footsteps moving away. Remembering all the television shows and movies I’d seen where the girl in peril moved too soon and was subsequently caught by the bad guys, I stayed in my safe spot until my ass had gone numb and feet began to tingle. One of the cows grunted and stood up, followed by the others. They didn’t give me so much as a backward glance as they moved across the field.

  I realized that all of the herd seemed to be moving in the same direction. Hesitating, I looked around, wondering what I was meant to do next. I could keep walking along the road and hope to find someplace to sleep for the night. I’d gotten into the habit of traveling by bus or train overnight, so that I could sleep in relative safety. But I was too far now from the bus depot, and besides, the men who were after me had mentioned going back into the town. That wasn’t an option.

  I began picking my way across the field, trying to avoid the piles of mud that I was sure weren’t mud. As I drew closer to the other side, I saw that the cows were exiting the pasture through a gate, next to which a man was standing, encouraging them through. It was too dark to get a good look at him, and I didn’t think he’d caught sight of me, but I could just make the outlines of buildings in the background.

  “If there are cows, there must be a barn,” I reasoned, muttering to myself. “And if there’s a barn, it probably means I could sleep in a place that’s relatively warm and safe. I just need to be smart about it.”

  Being smart meant slipping around to the side of the field and clamoring through the fence that way. I moved slowly, deliberately staying out of sight while I walked parallel to the fence line, so that I didn’t get lost.

  When I reached the barn, I could hear the sound of a machine running. I had a hunch that it was the milking equipment, taking care of the cows for the evening. Dropping down low, I hunkered against the wood building until the noise stopped.

  About five minutes later, I heard whistling as a door opened and then closed. “‘Night, girls!” The deep voice floated around the side of the barn to me. “See y’all bright and early.”

  Fo
r some reason, that made me smile. He liked his cows, whoever this man was. I pictured a kindly old farmer in his overalls and plaid shirt, caring for his animals and then walking back to his farm house, the one that had been in his family for generations. His wife would be cooking at the stove, and she’d greet him with a wide smile before she put supper on the table.

  As though following the direction of my thoughts, my stomach growled loudly. “Down, girl,” I whispered. “I don’t see much opportunity for sustenance around here tonight.”

  Once I thought I was safe to do so, I crept around the barn, staying as much in the shadows as I could. The door swung open on silent hinges when I pulled the handle, and I slipped inside.

  It was warm there, thanks to the all the cow-bodies. A dim safety light made it easy for me to see where I was going, and I wandered for a moment, careful not to move too quickly and spook the regular tenants, who regarded me with no surprise or alarm at all.

  For a barn, it was much cleaner and neater than I’d expected. The stalls were open and filled with sweet-smelling hay. Some of the cows had settled down for the night, while others still roamed. There was some equipment hanging on the walls, and about halfway down from the entrance, there was another door, this one with a window. I peered through the glass and realized that it was some kind of small office, with a simple desk, a filing cabinet, a chair and oh, score! There was a mini-fridge, too. It might not have looked like much, but for me, this was practically paradise.

  And even better, the door was unlocked. I sank down into the office chair, sighing as my feet and back thanked me. But I didn’t waste much time before I crossed my fingers and opened the fridge . . . and almost wanted to cry.

  The inside of the door was lined with bottled water. I grabbed one, unscrewed the cap and chugged it fast. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I’d had ready water to drink. There was some fruit, too, and a box of granola bars. I made short work of an apple and two bars before I stopped to take a breath.