She kept moving, picking up speed as she went over the way Esmeralda had pulled her into a web of deceit so smoothly. Trixie knew she was intelligent and she counted on that knowledge, sometimes feeling a little superior when others misjudged her because she didn’t have a formal education. She’d educated herself and she’d done very well in the world of business. She’d raised her own daughter and four granddaughters, all of whom were college graduates. She’d done good. Still, she’d been played by Esmeralda.
The woman wasn’t her friend. Not at all. She’d somehow known about Trixie’s ability to tune to people. No one outside the family knew about it. Well . . . once a few years back she’d gone for psychic testing just for the fun of it. But that was confidential. Or so they had said. Esmeralda had known. She’d made the initial contact online at a site where readers of vampire novels came together to discuss the books. They’d had fun together. Then it wasn’t so fun anymore, and it definitely wasn’t fun now, not with Esmeralda’s husband believing psycho man Jashari about Teagan. Of course they didn’t know Teagan was her granddaughter or they probably would have killed her on the spot.
She’d heard them whispering in their tent together. How they would use her to find the vampires and then they’d have to get rid of her because she knew too much and didn’t believe in their cause. As if her presence wasn’t enough for them. She was fairly certain it was Jashari who wanted her dead. He’d led the discussions and the others deferred to him in all things. She had the feeling he was fairly high up in their organization.
Finally. Finally. She reached the fog bank. Or more correctly, a wall of fog. It appeared solid and impenetrable. Studying it from several different angles, she decided she needed to find a way in. The faint notes she followed were calling to her from inside that cover of thick, gray vapor—so she had to get inside.
Trixie was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them. She flung her pack to the ground, grateful to get it off her back, but not so grateful that she would have to sit on the ground and get her very fine pants dirty. They were cute and she really liked them. It wasn’t that easy to find pants that showed off her curves to their full advantage. If she was going to get murdered up there on that mountain, at least they’d find her dead body looking extremely fine.
She tried to dust off the dirt and vegetation from around the spot before she sank down gingerly right there in the dirt, staring straight ahead into the fog. The vapor moved, swirling, almost mesmerizing, making patterns, but there was no wind that moved it. An unseen hand maybe, but not the wind. She could feel wind, but it wasn’t moving the fog. She closed her eyes, refusing to look into the swirling mist. Instead, she listened carefully, hearing the music inside the fog. The notes of silver and gold sang softly to her.
The notes weren’t discordant at all, not like the notes Denny Jashari and his friends gave off. These were warning notes, broadcasting to others to stay away, but rather than being out of tune with nature, they fit perfectly. Harmonious. Definitely a part of the wilderness.
The notes appealed to her as nothing else in her lifetime ever had. Something inside of her responded, matching the rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. She felt her body tune to the notes. Embrace them. Her own symphony played counterpoint and then sang harmony. Whoever or whatever had put those notes in the fog fit with her. Belonged.
In spite of the danger to her granddaughter, in spite of the very real danger to herself, for the first time in her life, she relaxed completely. She couldn’t remember ever feeling relaxed. She was too busy. She had too much responsibility. She worked nonstop. She took care of children and their educations. She made a home for them. She didn’t take time out to see to her own needs. Her family was her life. Everything. She didn’t relax.
She found herself simply breathing, letting the notes fill her up. Revive her when she’d been so exhausted. She wanted to laugh. To cry. She felt safe wrapped up in that song. It was wild. Untamed. At the same time there was elegance there. Refinement. Things just out of her reach. She’d given them to her granddaughters, but she’d never had them for herself. Sitting there in the dirt, she sang back to the notes, feeling, for the first time in her life, elegance and refinement. Feeling safe.
It took a few minutes—or maybe it was hours—to realize she was wrapped up in the fog. She hadn’t seen it move, but then she wasn’t looking. She was feeling. She felt for her pack because the fog was too dense for sight to penetrate. It was there, right beside her, so she hadn’t moved. Just the fog had.