underneath, but realized that she was looking for something. A box, she discovered as Joanna backed up and jumped to her feet.
“You have to transition into your ethereal form,” she said.
Dylan just shook her head. She had no idea what Joanna was talking about.
“Close your eyes,” Joanna said, moving her own hand over Dylan’s eyelids, encouraging them to lower. Images exploded in her mind, images of colorful creatures moving freely through the air.
“Concentrate,” Joanna whispered. “You are an angel. Imagine yourself floating free of your human form.”
“I can’t,” Dylan said, pulling back.
Joanna dropped the box before she grabbed Dylan’s head between both her hands and squeezed slightly. “Listen to me,” she hissed. “You have to do this. Lucifer is coming.”
Dylan stared at Joanna. “How do you know?”
“I know.” She surprised Dylan by kissing her forehead lightly. “Think of John—Wyatt. Think of the last time you were together. Think of happiness.”
Dylan closed her eyes again. She could feel the pressure of Joanna’s hands on her head, but it was not an unpleasant pressure. Her thoughts were scattered. At first, all she could think about was the sound of flames cracking and popping in the next room, of the heat of it beginning to come toward her. Then she thought of Luc and Lily, of the things they had done and what they wanted to do. But as she stood there, as Joanna continued to hold her head between her hands, Dylan’s thoughts began to settle down.
She thought of Sam. Thought of the night he kissed her. A different kind of heat moved through her body just at the memory. It made her ache in a weird sort of way. She wanted to hold on to the memory, wanted to hold on to Sam. But then the image of his battered face, the one Wyatt showed her, flashed through her mind and all the calm that had descended on her disappeared.
“Concentrate,” Joanna said again, her voice a little less calm than it had been before.
Dylan squeezed her eyes, as though the act of doing that would cause the images in her mind to physically change. And, in a way, it did. She focused on Wyatt this time, and pictured his face as it had been during their conversation earlier. She pictured him dragging his fingers through his hair and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets as though it would stop him from saying or doing something he didn’t want to do.
She pictured the frown wrinkles on Wyatt’s forehead and her own fingers gently wiping them away. And she imagined him smiling, imagined that dimple that sometimes appeared in his cheek in those rare moments of levity. It didn’t happen often, so she felt special when it appeared for her. She felt that way now. She felt that tenderness that often made it hard to breathe whenever he looked at her.
“That’s it,” Joanna whispered.
Dylan’s thoughts moved again to the kisses she and Wyatt had shared behind that wall of boxes, to the feel of his urgency as he ran his hands under her shirt. She had never felt anything quite like that before. It confused her, her own body’s reaction to him. And his body…she had felt things she did not understand and wasn’t sure she ever would despite what she had seen in Joanna’s memories of her romance with Jimmy. It occurred to her that she never wondered why Wyatt had touched her that way; she never had the chance to ask him what it had meant.
But the memory of it was just as exciting as the moment itself had been.
As Dylan concentrated on Wyatt, on his touch, she felt her body begin to become light. Joanna whispered encouragement. There was warmth that traveled between Joanna’s fingers and Dylan’s mind. It was as if Joanna was infusing Dylan with something…a sort of magic, perhaps.
And then the earth was no longer under her feet, but a distant object floating far below her.
“Follow me,” Joanna said.
Dylan looked around and spotted Joanna’s pure blue color far ahead of her. She began to
“You have to transition into your ethereal form,” she said.
Dylan just shook her head. She had no idea what Joanna was talking about.
“Close your eyes,” Joanna said, moving her own hand over Dylan’s eyelids, encouraging them to lower. Images exploded in her mind, images of colorful creatures moving freely through the air.
“Concentrate,” Joanna whispered. “You are an angel. Imagine yourself floating free of your human form.”
“I can’t,” Dylan said, pulling back.
Joanna dropped the box before she grabbed Dylan’s head between both her hands and squeezed slightly. “Listen to me,” she hissed. “You have to do this. Lucifer is coming.”
Dylan stared at Joanna. “How do you know?”
“I know.” She surprised Dylan by kissing her forehead lightly. “Think of John—Wyatt. Think of the last time you were together. Think of happiness.”
Dylan closed her eyes again. She could feel the pressure of Joanna’s hands on her head, but it was not an unpleasant pressure. Her thoughts were scattered. At first, all she could think about was the sound of flames cracking and popping in the next room, of the heat of it beginning to come toward her. Then she thought of Luc and Lily, of the things they had done and what they wanted to do. But as she stood there, as Joanna continued to hold her head between her hands, Dylan’s thoughts began to settle down.
She thought of Sam. Thought of the night he kissed her. A different kind of heat moved through her body just at the memory. It made her ache in a weird sort of way. She wanted to hold on to the memory, wanted to hold on to Sam. But then the image of his battered face, the one Wyatt showed her, flashed through her mind and all the calm that had descended on her disappeared.
“Concentrate,” Joanna said again, her voice a little less calm than it had been before.
Dylan squeezed her eyes, as though the act of doing that would cause the images in her mind to physically change. And, in a way, it did. She focused on Wyatt this time, and pictured his face as it had been during their conversation earlier. She pictured him dragging his fingers through his hair and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets as though it would stop him from saying or doing something he didn’t want to do.
She pictured the frown wrinkles on Wyatt’s forehead and her own fingers gently wiping them away. And she imagined him smiling, imagined that dimple that sometimes appeared in his cheek in those rare moments of levity. It didn’t happen often, so she felt special when it appeared for her. She felt that way now. She felt that tenderness that often made it hard to breathe whenever he looked at her.
“That’s it,” Joanna whispered.
Dylan’s thoughts moved again to the kisses she and Wyatt had shared behind that wall of boxes, to the feel of his urgency as he ran his hands under her shirt. She had never felt anything quite like that before. It confused her, her own body’s reaction to him. And his body…she had felt things she did not understand and wasn’t sure she ever would despite what she had seen in Joanna’s memories of her romance with Jimmy. It occurred to her that she never wondered why Wyatt had touched her that way; she never had the chance to ask him what it had meant.
But the memory of it was just as exciting as the moment itself had been.
As Dylan concentrated on Wyatt, on his touch, she felt her body begin to become light. Joanna whispered encouragement. There was warmth that traveled between Joanna’s fingers and Dylan’s mind. It was as if Joanna was infusing Dylan with something…a sort of magic, perhaps.
And then the earth was no longer under her feet, but a distant object floating far below her.
“Follow me,” Joanna said.
Dylan looked around and spotted Joanna’s pure blue color far ahead of her. She began to
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