The screams reverberating in James's head faded one by one, leaving a terrible silence. Black dominated his sight, pressing against the inside of his head like the inky black water that had stolen his last breaths.
So this was what it was like to be dead.
Cool fingers touched his cheek. Stroked over his skin to his chin. He blinked a few times. Waited. Air filled his lungs. The cool touch was dry. Water didn't try to invade every part of him. Still the darkness threatened to pull him in again. He closed his eyes.
"No," a clear female voice said. "Don't go again."
His mattress dented under someone else's weight. Mattress? How did he get into a bed?
"Where am I?" Shudders shot through his body.
"Safe," the clear voice answered, closer this time.
Safe from what? James swallowed, trying to think straight. Last he remembered, he was being drowned by a group of thugs. Ah. Safe was a euphemism for dead, then.
The woman picked up one of his hands and rubbed it. Her touch was soft and gentle. Wait. Why was a woman rubbing his hands in the afterlife? Sensation returned to his hand.
She laid it down on his chest and picked up the other. "Will you open your eyes?"
He pried them open and the darkness closed in. His breath hitched, but she drew his head to the side and light blurred his vision. He blinked until the blur faded, then blinked again when he found himself facing an angel. Bright violet eyes smiled at him from an ethereally fair face. It glowed in the brightness around her. Her straight white hair caressed her shoulders, even though she couldn't have been much older than his sixteen years. Strange. From the way she spoke he'd expected her to be older.
"That's it," he muttered, "I must be dead."
"No, you never died." She turned her head to stare at the ceiling, cutting off his inspection.
He let his gaze follow hers. Above him stretched a wide expanse of the deepest darkness he'd ever experienced. It crowded against his fragile peace.
It's just a ceiling, he told himself, but his rationale failed to explain how the darkness grew deeper every time he looked at it. He dragged in a breath to calm himself and went back to watching her. Her neck's graceful arch ended in diamonds glistening at her throat. They cascaded down her chest and ended at the top of her breasts, only barely touching the edge of her white dress.
"I thought it's rude to stare in your culture," she said without looking his way.
"Sorry." Heat burned his cheeks.
He focused his attention on the other side of the room, letting it settle on a white loveseat against the wall. What a stupid design. The legs barely looked thick enough to take anyone's weight. Scatter cushions of various shades of blue were arranged on it, completely matching the turquoise ripples reflecting on the off-white floor. It resembled sand, making the room seem like it was underwater.
His mother would have freaked for the décor. She always adored splurging on decorating their cold-ass house. So much so, the money she'd spent on 'improving' their new house could have bought back the old one.
James frowned, yanking his thoughts back before they went too far down that road. "Who are you?"
"Rhea," she said, smiling.
"Who?"
"Rhea. Don't you remember me?"
What the hell? "Uh...no?"
Her brows drew together before she stared up at the darkness once more. "Oh. Right. We haven't met yet, have we?"
"Definitely not." This was turning into an acid trip. Maybe he was dead. Or this was one of those hallucinations people get as they're dying. Would pinching bring him out of it, if this was the case? Would he even want to face reality? Drowning was a nightmare way to die.
Rhea pursed her lips and inspected him.
"I thought it's rude to stare," he mumbled, but she just burst out laughing.
It was as calming as listening to rain. Yeah. Much better than the realities of water stinging through his lungs instead of air.
James rolled his eyes and sat up, leaning against the bed's wrought-iron headboard. The curling, cold metal pressed against his skin.
She shrugged. "I don't remember what's rude to my people anymore."
James frowned. He was alive, but part of him felt afloat in a sea of confusion. "You don't remember?"
"This place. It does things to me."
"Why don't you leave?" he asked.
"I can't. Not yet." Sadness edged into her expression before a wide smile crowded it out moments later. "I'm surprised that you aren't asking me about bringing you here."
Bits and pieces of memories returned to him. The bindings' bite into his wrists. His terror as the thugs had forced him into the lake. The cold water choking off his air-
He winced. "How did I get here?"
"I had my people submerge you in a lake."
He shot forward, his old terror rising again. His air escaped him and he gasped, drawing it deep into his lungs and holding it in, fearing it would be his last. Wait...last air. It had left him. He'd screamed under water. Saw the bubbles drifting to the surface. He gripped the edge of the mattress, fighting to regain his nerve.
"I could have been killed!"
"No. I wouldn't have let that happen." She actually sounded hurt.
"How could you possibly prevent me from drowning?"
"Because I'm Rhea," she snapped as if that answered everything, as if he didn't even have the right to ask. "I've been waiting for you for ages. Since you're here, we can assume I did prevent your drowning."
James stared at her. Was she for real? Was she even real? Because right now James had no sense of reality to hold on to. He half expected her to laugh at him. Instead, she stood up and crossed the room to a closed door. She opened it a crack and spoke through the gap. He watched her, working his jaw to keep silent. What could she possibly want from a wreck like him?
Rhea flowed back to his bed-side and settled down on the place she'd vacated. She huffed a sigh. After a few seconds, she inspected him. James shifted under her scrutiny.
"My, my. You're..." She turned her lips inward. "Interesting," she said, tasting the word. "Yes..." Her expression eased. "James, I'd never hurt you. You were safe in my home before you had time to take the breath that could have drowned you."
"How could that be possible?" And why the hell did it seem like Rhea knew him?
She smiled. "Don't tell me you forgot, James Braden. I'm Water's Daughter. I could make any water do my bidding. In theory."
He leaned back once more. Hopefully the relaxed pose convinced her that he didn't care. Because this conversation and the way it kept running in circles freaked him out. "I didn't forget. I never met you."
Rhea's brows knitted together in confusion. "Of course we met. I watched you slay the dragon-"
"What?" he choked out. Wonderful. He was attracted to a crazy woman.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "I am not insane!" She stormed out of the room.
The door slammed hard enough to make him cringe. She was nuts. Absolutely barmy to fly into a temper about something he thought- Wait. Thought? The gears in James's head locked. Did Rhea really just read his mind? He stared at the door, rerunning the conversation in his head. Dragons...insanity. Good. That leap made perfect sense. He definitely didn't say anything about her being crazy. Thought it, yes. In fact, he still held that opinion. But how the hell did she read his mind?
Maybe she was psychic. A crazy one who liked yanking people's chains by telling them they slay dragons. Dragons, of all things. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. If dragons really existed-and they didn't, did they?-he'd stay the hell away from them. James Braden was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.
But why was she so psycho about being seen as crazy? It had to be a common occurrence. Psychic people got discounted and ridiculed all the time, didn't they? So maybe she was sane but her vision was off. Or maybe she was certifiable but seemingly harmless. Did it even matter what she was?
Rhea breezed in again seconds later, followed by three servants carrying laden trays. She pointed at a table off to the side and the servants placed the food there. The table's twig-like legs kept standing.
This time, Rhea pulled up a chair and sat, eyeing him. James shrunk away from her cool regard, despite himself. Time to test his theory.
You should have known how shocked I'd be at the mention of slaying dragons.
Her lilac eyes sparked with anger. Hmm...definitely a reaction there.
Well, it's true. You surprised me, okay?
"You never thought about an apology." She hugged her knees to her chest, posture deflating like an exhausted child's.
James prepared to deny her soft accusation, but her knowing his thoughts made anything he said futile.
"Why did you come back?" he asked.
Rhea stared at the darkness above again. "I don't know..." After a moment, she shrugged. "I guess you're better company than my servants. A few thousand years ago, someone thought it was smart to take an oath of silence. Now they all do it when they follow me. So I'm stuck listening to my ears buzzing."
"You brought me here to keep you company?"
"Not really. I need to speak to Phipps."
What would she want with Phipps? All James wanted was to not see the doddering old castle keeper ever again. In fact, getting the hell away from him was the reason James had been caught alone, ripe for the picking by Rhea's thugs.
James scowled and crossed his arms. "I'd prefer it if you let him drown."
At least Ward would come with Phipps. Unless he'd gone back to earth when James had left them in Icaimerith. No, Ward wouldn't do that. He went nowhere without James. They'd been friends since before Ward moved in with James's family.
She sighed and glanced his way. "You and Phipps always did get along like cats and dogs."
"How would you know?"
"I'm Rhea."
Again with her acting like they knew each other. James grimaced. Maybe she did know him. Maybe it was the side-effect of being psychic. Not a comforting thought. "Well, Rhea. You're different."
"Yes." Rhea uncurled her body and stood. She went to the platters and served fish and bread onto two shiny white plates before returning. "Hungry?" She offered the food to him.
He shook his head. "I already ate, thanks."
"Try it. You ate a while ago."
It didn't feel like a while. He took the plate. "How long was I out?"
She sat down and set her plate on her lap beforebreaking off a piece of bread. "A while."
James fought the urge to gnash his teeth and focused on his food. After a second's hesitation, he took a piece of fish between his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his stomach thanked him. He scarfed the rest. When he looked up, their eyes met. For a second she seemed to search his soul, but she gave up and turned her face to the darkness above again.
"Why do you keep doing that?" he asked, peeking up at the ominous ceiling.
"Because it has all the answers," she answered without changing her position.
He focused on his plate. "It?"
"The Window of Knowledge."
"The what?" he asked, venturing a glance at her.
Her mouth skewed. "Didn't we already have this conversation?"
"Um... No?"
She pushed out a heavy sigh and returned her attention to her plate. "The Window of Knowledge. It shows me answers."
"Answers to what?"
She picked up a hunk of bread and turned it over and over. Her dainty fingers dug into the soft surface as they worked. "To everything."
"Really?"
"Well. Almost everything... I'm about as omniscient as someone could get."
Seeing everything couldn't be all that good. Now that he paid attention, sadness seemed to edge every word, every look, and every action. "But how? I didn't see anything up there."
"You're not looking for long enough." She smiled slightly, as if trying to hide her amusement with him.
"Oh." He helped himself to a second plate of food. "So if I stare at it..."
"You'll see something about yourself."
"Like?" He glanced up again.
"Perhaps you will see your future. Or your present." She took a moment to measure him. "Or your past."
He turned his head down. "Which one?"
"There's only one way to know. By looking."
"But you can see anything about anything or anyone?"
She put her plate down, the food mostly untouched. "Yes, but I can neither control what I see nor have I the ability to know when something occurred. Or if it's occurring. Or if it will occur. I also have perpetual trouble with finding the right tense for verbs." Her solemn face mixed with the last complaint made it hard for James not to laugh. "All this means I sometimes feel like I know people I've yet to meet. Or I re-experience things that happened long ago... I have no way of knowing which is which."
Well, that explained the weirdness at least. "Not good," he said, trying to keep his mirth hidden.
She giggled and gave his shoulder a little poke. "It hardly matters. I never involve myself in the events that unfold. When I do, I rarely have an effect on them."
James smiled. "How do you know if you don't try?"
"It doesn't matter." Her emotions drained from her face until it resembled a life-like porcelain mask.
Creepy. James searched for a safer subject. "What do you need me for?"
"You'll have to wait and see."
"If you're still waiting for Phipps, you'll wait for a long time."
"He's on his way."
"Now?"
"Soon."
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