Bedeviled Read Free

naked whatever.
    “Oh, crap,” she whispered, looking around the room as if searching for help that wasn’t coming. “Out of the frying pan and straight into the bonfire.”
    That naked female curled itself up into a ball of keening wimpiness—all of her teeth-baring aggression was gone now as she tried to make herself so small that the golden tornado wouldn’t find her. Maggie knew just how she felt. She grabbed up her purse and clutched it to her like it was a shield. She should have been running—she knew that—but somehow she couldn’t make herself stop watching. Horrified, she saw the whirling gold cloud settle over what had eaten Joe and, in an instant, reduce whatever it had been to a pile of lint on the floor.
    “Ohmigod.” One word, because she was just too freaked for three. That gold whirlwind spiraled up toward the ceiling, then did a quick about-face. It was moving away from the lint pile and headed toward Maggie. “God. So I’m not going to be eaten; I’m going to be a dust bunny instead. This cannot be happening.”
    But it was. She dodged to the left and the vortex moved with her. She leaped right and the damn thing kept pace.
    Her tennis shoes slid in something slimy that she so didn’t want to identify. Heartbeat thundering hard in her chest, she bolted around the edge of the desk, headed for the door. She didn’t even come close.
    The whirlwind hit her and felt like what she imagined getting slammed into by a train might. Pain. Lots of pain. She staggered, dropped her purse and fell to all fours while the golden cloud settled down over her, sinking into her skin, sliding through her body. She felt it merging with her, traveling through her system, giving her what felt like the fever of the century. Soon, she thought wildly, she’d be lint.
    Maggie thought about her sister, her niece. She wouldn’t see them again. Wouldn’t ever find a guy incapable of boring her to death. Wouldn’t become a famous artist and live in Paris. Hell, she wouldn’t even get to see the next Harry Potter movie. Game over.
    Groaning, Maggie hung her head, stared down at the floor and realized she couldn’t see it, which was probably not a good sign. She couldn’t breathe, either. Was this what that . . . thing had felt? Gagging, coughing, eyes streaming tears, Maggie would have thought she’d been Maced, but as it turned out, this was so much worse.
    Visions spilled through her mind: Of a city she’d never seen before, filled with shining crystal buildings and floating people. Huge, ancient trees with windows cut into their trunks lined streets that shone brightly in the sunlight. Fields of flowers stretched out for miles and then blurred into a wash of vibrant color. Then those images faded and other, less pleasant pictures showed up. Creatures like the one who’d just died, and so many others that looked far scarier.
    Maggie shook her head, trying to dislodge the images; then she groaned, coughed and struggled to breathe. Slowly the visions faded until there was only one last picture rising up in her mind.
    A pair of eyes.
    Familiar. Pale green.
    Staring right through her.
    And then it was over.
    She could almost see again, and breathing was easier. She wasn’t dead, and even the nausea was fading, so Maggie gratefully sucked in air like a drowned person after CPR. She felt ragged, like she’d been beaten up by experts.
    “Crap,” she muttered to no one, since Joe was gone and the female was dust. “What the hell was that ?”
    Naturally she got no answer, so she collapsed onto the floor, letting her face slap into Joe’s ugly, industrial beige carpeting that somehow smelled like sulfur. Her whole body ached like she’d been at the gym—which was why she avoided most exercise.
    But there was a strange sensation of power settling into her, which she could not explain at all. Along with the aches and pains she felt, there was a kind of strength beginning to build inside her that just made absolutely