Twisted Miracles Read Free Page A

an angry-looking crowd holding their drinks. At least the woman I’d knocked into was gone.
    “Jack’ll be right back,” the bartender said. “He just got a phone call.”
    “Oh.” Perfect. “Well, could you tell him I caught a cab home?” I started backing away. “I’ll see him at work.”
    “Hey, wait, he’ll be back in a second...”
    “I really have to go,” I said, and darted for the back door. As I turned away, the goth fairy I’d beat out earlier claimed my seat.
    * * *
    Shane was waiting for me, leaning against the cinderblock wall of the defunct car dealership next to the bar, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. Now that I was over the shock of seeing him, I noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and his dark eyes were bloodshot. Not that it made much difference. He’d always been hard to mess up.
    “We can catch a cab on Market.” I led the way down Mission. He hadn’t dressed for the damp, chilly weather, and there was gooseflesh on the brown skin of his arms. He’d put on weight since I’d seen him last, mostly muscle. It showed through the tight T-shirt he wore, in the way he walked. He caught my eye and I flushed, hoping he hadn’t noticed me noticing. I hailed a cab at the corner.
    “Our flight leaves at ten o’clock,” he said as we got in. “Red-eye.”
    “You already booked tickets?”
    “Call me an optimist.”
    I didn’t reply. When we got to my building, I asked the driver to wait. I unlocked the security gate and led Shane up the two flights to my place, wishing I’d cleaned it up that morning. As the door swung open, he stepped back.
    “Holy shit, Cass. What happened in here?”
    “I had a nightmare.” I walked in without looking at him and threw my keys on the table in the hall. He followed slowly, no doubt taking in the empty walls. Picture frames were a liability. I went straight to my tiny closet and started yanking T-shirts and sweaters out of the overstuffed drawers. It was fall, and I knew the weather in Louisiana could go either way.
    “A nightmare?” Shane was standing in my bedroom doorway, looking at the mess. The books that used to be on my ceiling-height bookshelf were jumbled on the floor, some of them open, pages torn out. My robe was hanging from the light fixture above the bed, and broken glass from a smashed mirror was all over the floor rug. I knew from experience that some of the glass had been pulverized and shoved deep into the fibers. There was no getting it out. I was going to have to throw it away.
    “It’s happening again?” His voice was soft, and I didn’t dare look at him.
    “No.” I shoved underwear and two pairs of jeans into my carry-on. “Not that often.” There’d been a time when I lost control in my sleep nearly every night. I was past that now. Mostly. The dream came back to me, the panic still fresh. I’d been drowning, fighting a current in muddy water, a voice I couldn’t quite recognize screaming at me in pursuit.
    The shields around my mind faltered, and I felt Shane’s concern, tinged with that same protective edge he’d had when he was training me. I knew he was about to ask more, but I pushed past him to the cramped bathroom in the hall. I shut the door and stuffed toiletries into my bag, taking a moment to brush my stick-straight hair into a ponytail. It was too short for it, and blond wisps snuck out of the band. I leaned my head against the mirror and closed my eyes.
    It’ll just be a few days , I told myself, knowing it probably wasn’t true.
    It had been five years since I’d been in New Orleans, five years since I’d used my powers—consciously, anyway. It had taken me three of those years to start living anything close to a normal life, and I still trashed my bedroom in my sleep every time I had a bad dream. Going back, letting my abilities loose again—was I going to have to start all over? Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it.
    I stayed in the bathroom until the panic ebbed