Free Jasper Mountain by Kathy Steffen

interfere with the will of any of them.
    Quite a profitable situation for Isabella St. Claire.

    Milena came upon a grand house with a blue tile roof on the edge of town. The blue castle. Her vision come true.
    She scurried beneath the castle’s porch. Her stomach rumbled. Ribbons of soft morning light slipped through floorboards, slicing through the dusky space. She was not the first to hide in this place. Remnants of food, some bones, and animal scat littered the dirt. She crawled into the corner farthest away from the road and brushed everything away, smoothing the dirt to lie down. Despite the hints of animals, the stench was not bad. All in all, she preferred this to lying beside the Dim Swede.
    She curled up and drew her velvet bag to her heart. The bag held all the possessions she cared about. Her grandmother’s gazing ball, her seeing cards, and a
choori
—a carved knife with a crystal handle Baba had forged with his own hands. The heaviness and shape of her grandmother’s crystal gazing ball reminded her of her dream and its promise and warning. She did not know how her escape from the Dim Swede would be possible; she only knew she must believe such freedom was hers.
    She tried not to think of Rolf and the strange men searching for her. Especially the one. When she’d reached out to get a sense of who helped the Dim Swede, a man startled her by waking.
    Somehow, he felt her presence. He almost came after her, but she wove protection around herself, closed her mind to him, and he lost his awareness. He troubled her. Such a man saw more than with his eyes and was a danger, especially since he aided Rolf.
    Rolf. Rolf, storming through town, coming for her. Furious. His hands ripping, tearing. His eyes, red with bloodlust.
    She jolted awake, her heart pounding and her skin slick with fear. Darkness enfolded her; she must have dozed for most of the day. Even though she did not want to admit any weakness, her exhaustion must be great. Thankful that no one discovered a woman hiding under the porch, she concentrated on stopping the shivering from her dream.
    Dream? Or vision? So hard to tell.
    The
tacho Romano drom
opened before her to travel. The
Shuv’hani
brought her to the castle with the roof, blue like the sky. Blue, like freedom. And the gnome? The portent of hidden danger? The vision of Rolf? Words whispered through her like a relief, sweeping aside the gnarled foreboding in her dream. Trust.
    “I will,
Shuv’hani.
I will.”
    She needed food and planned to appropriate it the way her people had for hundreds of years. Not stealing, really. Surviving. She did not come this far to starve to death hiding under a porch.
    She would take care not to get caught, that was all.

    Damn. The light was out again.
    Isabella bolted up, clutching the covers around her in the dark, not sure if her nightmare had ended or if she continued on, trapped in her sleeping mind. A draft brushed through the room even though the windows were shut. The stench of a rotted soul rode the air. He must be here, the man who chased her night after night, through a landscape of dreams. She froze. A steady cadence pulsed deep inside her ear, echoing her pounding heart. Faster. Faster.
    She reached for the derringer under her pillow. Cold metal and smooth pearl nestled in her palm. Well, that certainly felt real enough. So, she was awake. She pointed the gun out into the dark. Let him come. She’d blow off his useless Saint Peter and laugh while he bled to death at her feet.
    From the next room thumping grew to a frenzied speed. Then, a muffled groan. Another satisfied customer.
    Not about to sit awake all night in bed, she lowered the gun into her lap and lit the candle. The room filled with gentle light, and the glow expanded, searching out every dark, menacing corner. She was alone.
    Relief sliding through her, she tucked her gun back under the pillow. Her earlier vision flashed across her mind. Him, lying, bleeding from his mangled manhood.