Read Online Immortal Coil by C. I. Black - Free Book Online Page B

of.
    From the turn of his mood she didn’t think she’d get more information. But there was time to learn more later , hopefully before she needed it. You still don’t get to use my body, but I promise I’ll do what you say.
    And you’ll say what I say?
    She nodded without thinking then ran her hands over her head to hide the action. Everyone on the bus must have thought she was crazy. Talking to herself and nodding. She probably was.
    She could feel his thoughts churning, but couldn’t get a sense of what he was thinking.
    Deal. Get off at the next stop.
    She pulled the cord and shuffled to the door.
    Remember, you need to do what I say, even if things get...
    Weird? she said, filling in the blank for him. She wasn’t sure what could get more weird than what had already happened, but she supposed she’d find out soon enough.
    I suppose so, he said.
    Stop that. The bus shuddered to a halt and she got off.
    Antique shop, red house on the left.
    The house couldn’t be missed. It sat in silent defiance to the modernization of the neighborhood. A stately Victorian with single gable, turret, and yawning front porch, it was crowded on one side by a three-story, concrete and glass office building. On its other side lay a parking lot with two scraggly trees marking the entrance.
    A neon red-and-blue “open” sign shone in the house’s large front window, the colored light reflecting on the icicles hanging from the porch’s awning. The snow had been cleared off the path leading to the porch steps, and Anaea’s boots crunched on ice, sand, and salt. She reached for the brass doorknob, noting a small sign in beautiful black calligraphy: “Please push. This door sticks.”
    She could feel Hunter’s hesitation, as if he held his breath. No, it was more thoughtful than fearful. He was coming to a decision.
    It’ll be easier to communicate if you’re... if we’re not so closed off.
    The idea of opening up to him held mixed appeal. On the one hand she was dying to know more about Hunter and his race of spirits. On the other, the idea that a race of spirits existed made her question everything she knew about the world and she feared knowing the truth would drive her crazy.
    She entered the shop—the door indeed required a shove—and stepped into a dark, dusty, crowded house. She’d never hidden from the truth before. With three months before her death it was probably pointless to start now. Okay.
    A sudden wave of masculine presence filled her. She clutched the empty coat rack just inside the door to keep her balance. Flashes of thoughts, feelings, memories that she couldn’t quite bring into focus, raced through her, then he pulled back and the sense of him lessened, as if he’d hit a dimmer switch.
    Sorry. I’ve never done this before.
    She could sense his sincerity, and was reminded he was stuck in this predicament, too. Let’s just get this over with. Who are we here to see?
    Try the back.
    On any other day, she might have paused to look at all the treasures. And there were a lot of treasures. They weren’t arranged in any sort of artful display, but instead were crowded this way and that on shelves and clustered on the floor in what were once a stately living room and dining room. She continued to the back of the house and found a curvy blond in a green pantsuit, lounging in a chair that might or might not have been merchandise. Anaea couldn’t tell. The room had once been a kitchen and was packed with strange metal, wooden, and ceramic gadgets and furniture that she could only assume were related to a kitchen.
    The woman’s brown eyes narrowed while Hunter squirmed in Anaea’s head. She had the sense that she—no, he—knew this woman in a very, very friendly way. It was difficult to tell her memories from his, even with Hunter at this ‘dimmer’ setting. He knew the woman from a long time ago. Preferred her hair long, not the bob it was in now. And her eyes were the wrong color. Whatever that meant.
    The