Free Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 by Louise Cusack Page B

bodily sensations. The void where he’d been lost began to recede and he felt the hard ground beneath his back. If he could, he would have smiled. ‘Didn’t …’ He swallowed and tried again, ‘… bring your happy dagger?’ he whispered.
    She choked back a laugh, or a sob, he wasn’t sure which. ‘Are you …?’
    ‘Back.’ After a moment his face stopped feeling like there was a flea nest underneath his skin and he managed to part his eyelashes a crack. He saw her eyes clearly then, wide dark pools of fear. But around her was still a jumble. He wasn’t fully returned. ‘Speak again,’ he said and strained his hearing to lock onto her voice.
    ‘Speak again …’ she repeated,’… bright angel, for though art as glorious to this sight, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wond’ring eyes of mortals …’ She trailed off, pressing her lips together tightly. He could see her lips now, small and pink, could tell that the blur of green behind her would resolve itself into trees. Trusted that it would. He had the template back in his mind. Magoria. He knew how it was put together and now his brain could make sense of it.
    ‘I owe you one,’ he whispered, smiling up into her eyes. He closed his own for a moment to take a deep shuddering breath out of relief and the incredible feeling of knowing his life would go on. What a surprise that he’d struggled so hard against death. Or limbo. Or wherever he’d been. He opened his eyes again. ‘You saved my life.’
    ‘Twice,’ she said solemnly.
    ‘Then I owe you two.’ Vandal wasn’t ready to take his eyes from hers yet, although he saw the periphery of his vision firming, felt his mind settling.
    ‘Two lives?’ She frowned, twin ridges between her eyebrows.
    Such a narrow face. He could see her hair now, black as his own, straight with a severe middle part and tucked behind her ears. The dark skin of her Aboriginal ancestors.
    ‘You’ve got flecks of gold in your eyes,’ he said.
    She turned away. He heard a scrabbling sound and then she was putting her glasses on one-handed. She turned back to him, the pretty dark eyes obscured by thick lenses, her cheeks as red as sunburn. ‘Took them off to do CPR.’
    ‘Right.’ Cheese anyone? The impersonation was complete. He remembered now that they called her Mouse. She’d looked so different without the glasses. His gaze wandered And out of her shapeless school tunic and in shorts and a T-shirt, there were other improvements he could see. Not in the league of the swimming class girls he fantasised about, but still, a long way from ugly.
    ‘Can you walk?’ she asked stiffly. ‘I could help you up.’
    His attention returned to her face and the dreadful glasses. He could fix that. Fix her eyes so she didn’t have to wear them. It would be within his power. Not now of course. He’d need to rest for a couple of days, do some self-healing rituals. But later. Would she appreciate that? Could she keep quiet about it? And more pressing at the moment, how much had she actually seen?
    ‘Why are you here?’ he asked.
    She held his gaze but not a word came out of her mouth.
    ‘Petra?’
    ‘I’m here … to rescue you,’ she said and kept looking into his eyes, as though the answer to his question lay there. ‘I thought you’d be grateful.’ she added softly.
    ‘I am,’ he said quickly as guilt overrode his curiosity It didn’t matter why she was there. Call it destiny. Luck ‘But what did you see?’
    ‘I saw …’ Her pupils were so dilated Vandal couldn’t see the gold flecks any more. ‘… you were drowning. I pulled you out. You had difficulty focusing your eyes. I don’t think it’s brain damage. It was barely a minute that you weren’t breathing. Maybe … you hit your head when you fell. Concussion.’ Her soft voice trailed off and he had the distinct impression she was hiding something. Her cheeks were still red. ‘Do you want your shirt,’