Not that they really had failed, yet.
Up ahead was a tangle of underbrush. My body was already covered with whip-scratches and a lacework of blood against cold white skin. Even numb as I was at the moment, I couldn't throw myself into a thorn thicket. I needed a way around… I turned right, holding to a massive tree trunk for support, and clambered up a short rise.
Just as I reached the summit, a shadow appeared at the top of it. I gasped and started to fall backward, but the shadow reached down and grabbed my forearm, pulling me up the rest of the way and then wrapping me in sudden warmth as his arms closed around me.
I fought, startled and scared, but he was a big man, tall, and he managed to pin my arms to my side in a bear hug. "Jo!" he shouted in my ear. "Joanne, stop! It's me! It's Lewis!"
He smelled like woodsmoke and sweat, leaves and damp fabric, but he was warm, oh God, warm as heaven itself, and against my own will I felt myself go limp and stop fighting. For the moment.
"Jo?" He slowly let his arms loosen, and pulled back to look down at me. He was taller than I was by half a head, with shaggy-cut brown hair, and a long patrician face with big, dark eyes. A three-day growth of beard coming in heavy on his cheeks and chin. "We've been looking for you for days. What the hell happened to you? Are you—?" He stopped himself with an impatient shake of his head. "Never mind, stupid question, you're not okay or you'd have contacted us. Listen, we're in trouble. Bad trouble. We need you. Things have gone wrong."
I realized, with a terrible sinking feeling, that I had no idea who he was. And then the sinking turned to free fall.
He must have known something was wrong, because he frowned at me and passed his hand in front of my eyes. "Jo? Are you listening to me?"
I had no idea who I was.
SOUNDTRACK
Yep, once again, I had a soundtrack to help me stay focused, and boy, it was huge this time. (It was a big challenge. What can I say?) If you can't afford a gazillion CDs, hey, do what I do: Download them from iTunes or one of the other fine music services where the artists receive compensation per song. Please don't steal. Mother Nature doesn't like it when you steal, and I think we've established what happens when you make her mad…
Battleflag… Lo Fidelity Allstars
Extreme Ways… Moby
Come Undone… Duran Duran
Objection (Tango)… Shakira
Push It… Garbage
Let's Get It Started (Spike Mix)… Black Eyed Peas
Goodnight Moon… Shivaree
Virtual Insanity… Jamiroquai
Stop Don't Panic… Jamiroquai
Superstition… Stevie Wonder
You Haven't Done Nothing…Stevie Wonder
Angry Johnny… Poe
Molly's Chamber… Kings of Leon
Red Rain… Peter Gabriel
Twilight Zone… Golden Earring
(The System of)
Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether… Alan Parsons Project
Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)… The Offspring
Mustang Sally… The Commitments
Vertigo…U2
No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature… The Guess Who
Thunder… Prince
Tusk… Fleetwood Mac
S.A.L.T… The Orb
Shiver… Maroon
Gel… Collective Soul
Where the River Flows… Collective Soul
Angel… Sarah McLachlan
Oh, Berta, Berta… Tony Furtado
Passive… A Perfect Circle
The River… Joe Bonamassa
Bodies… Drowning Pool
About the Author
Rachel Caine is the author of more than fifteen novels, including the Weather Warden series. She was born at White Sands Missile Range, which people who know her say explains a lot. She has been an accountant, a professional musician, and an insurance investigator, and still carries on a secret identity in the corporate world. She and her husband, fantasy artist R. Cat Conrad, live in Texas with their iguanas, Popeye and Darwin, a mali uromastyx named (appropriately) O'Malley, and a leopard tortoise named Shelley (for the poet, of course). Visit her Web site at www.rachelcaine.com.