waning as she’d fallen to the floor.
She looked at Ryder Duncan as she pulled herself back to the present. Straightening her sweater was as much a nervous gesture as anything else. It was a way to remind herself that this place and time were real. She was real, and safe. Unburned, no smoke in her lungs...
As was usual, she felt as if she were caught between a dream and reality, as if she were dreaming that she was awake but wasn’t quite there yet. The feeling would pass, she knew, but it usually took several minutes. She clutched the sheet beneath her hands, holding on to this world for dear life.
Her greatest fear was that one day she’d leave this world behind for much more than a few minutes. What if she stayed within a vision of disaster? Drowning or on fire, caught up in a violent earthquake or a trapped in a war zone. Would she die with those around her? It was that fear that had driven her here, away from her family, away from home and her responsibilities. The only way to handle that fear was to gain enough control so that she knew she’d always come back to herself.
Duncan had been her last sight before the vision, and now he was her first sight after. Even in her distressed state, she could appreciate that annoying as he was, he was a fine sight. Focusing on him allowed her to leave her fears behind. For now.
Normally she was alone when she came out of a vision. She’d always thought that was best. Her dreams of disasters, her visions of pain and suffering, they weren’t meant to be shared. Who would want to share them? Still, she had to admit, it was nice to see Duncan’s face waiting. Even if he did look pissed.
He was not at all what she’d expected when she’d flown to Ireland. It had been silly of her to expect anything at all! She hadn’t been able to find much in the way of detail about him. A mention in a story from ten years before, a second-or thirdhand account. In the real world, the world she lived in, “wizard” didn’t necessarily mean an old man with a long gray robe and long white hair and a magical staff. Though that was not impossible...
She sat up, uncomfortable to be on what was obviously his bed but too weak to stand just yet.
He continued their conversation as if there had been no break, no pause for her vision.
“Make what stop?” he asked, his voice cold.
She was probably wasting her time, explaining why she’d come to him for help. He’d already turned her down flat! But he had asked the question—make what stop?—and she knew better than to lie to him. She didn’t know exactly what powers he had, what gifts he possessed. He might realize she was lying; he might already know why she had come.
The truth. What else did she have to offer?
“My name is Echo Raintree. I’m called the Raintree prophet, but everyone knows I’m a poor excuse for a prophet.” That was her curse, as much as the visions. Always a disappointment, always less than she should be. “My visions come too late. There’s never anything I can do to help the people I see and hear...and feel. There was a time when I only saw these horrible things in my dreams, but as you just witnessed that is no longer true.” She shivered, then pulled the front of her sweater closed as if that might warm her. “They come all the time now, day and night, without warning, just...” She shuddered. “I don’t know what to do.”
He did not move closer or drop his arms. Jaw tight, dark eyes cold, he responded. Somehow, his Irish accent was more pronounced than it had been before as he asked, “You want me to train you to be a better prophet?”
Her heart leaped. In the beginning, even just a few moments ago, that had been her plan. But as she lay on his bed, shaking, feeling as if she’d blink and be back in the burning building, she realized she wanted more than control. Much more.
“No. I want the visions gone. I want them wiped away, erased. I want...help. The kind of help only you can offer.”
There was an uncomfortably long pause before he responded. “You want a lot,” he said without emotion.
“Yes, I do.”
Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Are you telling me there are no Raintrees who can help you?”
Again, she had to stick with the truth. If she lied to him and he found out, there would be hell to pay. One did not try to pull the wool over the eyes of a wizard. “They’ve tried, but...no luck.” Not knowing how much he knew, how much he saw, she had to tell all. “My cousins have attempted to teach me to control the visions. When I asked they said it was impossible to get rid of them entirely.” Gideon had refused to even discuss that possibility. “Maybe I’m too close to them, too connected. A st—” She caught herself. “Someone outside the clans seems like a better option, at this point.”
He didn’t respond for a few drawn-out seconds, and then he said in a lowered voice, “Poor Raintree princess can’t get her way at home so she flies across the pond to ask a stray for help.”
Her chin came up a bit. “I didn’t call you a stray.” Though she almost had. Caught. Echo swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain her strength. If only her knees would stop knocking. It was impossible to be strong when her entire body was weak, shaking, drained. She didn’t want Duncan to see her as weak. Not that she should care what he thought of her. She’d never see him again, once she drove away from Cloughban.
Which would probably be very soon. It was looking as if her trip had been a complete waste of time, as if Ryder Duncan was not all he’d been rumored to be. Any decent teacher would see that she needed help and offer it!
“No, not out loud,” he said. “But isn’t that what you call those with magic who are unaffiliated with your clans?”
She stood. Anger helped her find her legs. “Okay, fine. I almost called you a stray. Sorry if that offends you. What would you prefer?”
“Independent.”
He remained angry; he’d called her a princess with disdain...yes, this trip had been a waste of time. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide from those dark, condemning eyes. “Stray seems more appropriate to me.” She walked toward the door he blocked, trying not to let him see how devastating his refusal was. She would not beg!
“Sorry to have bothered you.” She thought about the little girl—real or imagined—she’d been talking to before the vision began. Beneath her breath she mumbled, “I guess Cassidy was wrong.”
Duncan didn’t move away from the door. Echo had to stop a couple of feet short. It was that or physically move him, and given his size and very nice solidness, that wasn’t going to happen. After a few seconds, she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. He still did not move. Dammit, did he want her to go or not?
“Cassidy?” he said in a lowered voice.
Echo sighed. “A little girl that was probably all in my head. I saw her, or imagined her, outside the pub right before this latest vision. She said I’d be here for a long time.” Wishful thinking, a real child with magic, a new precursor to the visions? She didn’t know. Cassidy had obviously been wrong when she’d said that Duncan would help her.
“What did she look like?” he asked.
She wanted out of here before she started to cry. She wanted to walk out with her head high and a smidgen of her dignity intact. A smidgen was all she could hope for at this point. If she stood here too long, neither would happen. “What difference does it make?”
“Indulge me.”
Echo backed away a little. Duncan could get under her skin much too easily. Just standing close to him made her shiver. Then again, maybe that was no more than lingering physical weakness thanks to her latest episode. Might as well give him what he wanted so she could boogie on out of here and have her nervous breakdown in private.
“Curly red hair, dark eyes, a few freckles. Maybe ten years old. She was on the sidewalk and then...she wasn’t.” She didn’t feel the need to explain anything more to him.
Instead