Free What You Can't See by Allison Brennan, Karin Tabke, Roxanne St. Claire Page A

Anthony said, his mouth working but no sound escaping.
    “I can’t. Humans will.”
    The flames disappeared, leaving him cold, shaking. He saw Skye standing at the edge of a cliff.
    She was going to jump.
     
    Anthony fought sleep, weary, unusually exhausted. Something—a spell. Those who had summoned Ianax had made his sleep deep. Recognizing it, he shook his head violently, side to side, reciting the Lord’s Prayer in clipped phrases as he rolled from the bed, landing heavily on the floor.
    Every limb was weighted. With a primal growl he pulled himself up. Unseen demons clawed at his skin. Burning. Restraining him.
    “Forgive us our trespasses!” he tried to shout but a demon clawed at his throat.
    His body staggered across the hotel room, stumbled, knocked over a vase. It landed with a thud on the thick carpet.
    “—those who trespass against us.”
    Anthony pulled on his slacks, fumbling with the zipper and collapsing onto the couch. The spell was weakening. The demons tried to hold on to him, pin him to the couch. To slow him down. To stop him from reaching Skye in time.
    “Lead us not into temptation!”
    His voice was stronger. He found his shoes where he’d taken them off. Where was Skye? How would he find her?
    A clear image came to his head and he knew exactly where she lived and how to get there.
    “Thank you, Lord,” he mumbled in recognition of the vision.
    Please, he couldn’t be too late.
    He ran out the door, the bright hall lights blinding him. He hit one wall, then the other, as if drunk. But his sight cleared and he turned north on the street.
    He ran, pulled by an invisible string to Skye’s house. Faster, Anthony. She’s hurting.
    “But deliver us from evil!”
    Amen.

Chapter Eight
    S KYE WOKE , glanced at the clock. Five A.M. Damn, she didn’t have to get up until six, and here she was, wide awake, her mind crammed full of the crime scene. While driving Anthony from the burned-out mission the night before, she’d called Rod and asked him to get the arson investigator out there. Rod planned on meeting him at the mission to see if they could salvage anything after the fire, but he assured her they had enough evidence and photographs to hold up in court once they arrested a suspect.
    “And,” he’d added, “I can’t say that I’m sorry that painting in the sacristy is destroyed.”
    First Juan, now Rod. Two strong, reasonable, smart men completely snowed by a few odd circumstances. Maybe it was the history of the mission itself, or Anthony’s strange comments, or the brutality of the murders. It was human nature to want to blame some ethereal “evil” when Skye knew damn well a person had killed those priests.
    Five-ten. No going back to sleep now that her mind had kicked into full gear. She padded down the hall to the kitchen and flicked on her coffeepot, which she always prepared the night before.
    The night was still black. She shouldn’t feel this alert, she’d only had two hours of sleep. But her mind was working double time. She stared out the breakfast nook window. She lived in her family home on the coast. It was just her now.
    Intense sadness flooded her senses as it always did when she unexpectedly thought of her father. His death had been so wrong.
    Skye poured herself coffee, adding a teaspoon of sugar. Her dad had been a quiet, calm man. Never raised his voice. Never harmed anyone, human or animal. He cared for all living things, taking his job as a forest ranger seriously. He was in those woods every day, even on his days off. He stayed in the ranger’s cabin more often than at home. Skye had a room there as well, but she also needed to attend school. She’d pretty much raised herself, especially after her mother left.
    “I can teach you,” her father had said, asking her to live at the cabin with him.
    “But I like school. I don’t want to live in the woods with no one around.”
    She’d hurt her father, she knew, but not on purpose. Never on purpose.