When Lightning Strikes

He paled, drew in a sharp breath. "Enough," he said through clenched teeth. "You want help, I'll get you help. Come on."

"Really?"

But he was already gone. He walked through the doorway and disappeared outside. Lainie lurched forward and sprinted after him, trying to match his punishing stride.

He walked and she ran down the dirt road that bisected the camp. At the last little cabin, he stopped and pounded on the door. From inside came a muffled, hoarse voice. "Come in."

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Killian shoved the door open, then turned around and grabbed Lainie by the arm, dragging her into the dark interior. "Here, Viloula, I got a crazy woman for you. Keep her the hell away from me."

Chapter Twelve

The house was small and cluttered, with newspaper-covered walls and dusty wood floors. No candles were burning at this hour, no lamps were lit. The place smelled of smoke and dirty laundry, with just a hint of something sweet and cloying.

Incense.

Pale sunlight seeped through threadbare burlap curtains, catching the steel surface of a cookstove and the iron curve of a bedpost, but no more. Stacks and heaps of leather-bound books were shadows within shadows along the far wall, disjointed spires that rose alongside canned goods and bags of sugar and flour. Socks and trousers and shirts hung from the laundry line that sagged between the bedpost and a nail alongside the window.

An old, withered black woman sat motionlessly at a rickety wooden table. A half smile curved her dark lips. Her fuzzy gray hair was drawn back from her face, giving her a shrunken appearance. Swags of ebony skin folded across her cheeks, sagged at her small, pointed chin. Broken, askew spectacles hung at the very tip of her fleshy nose and magnified two intensely alert black eyes. Absently she touched the breathtakingly beautiful necklace around her throat. It was wrought gold with a

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huge lavender stone that caught the light in the room and tossed it back in a thousand glittering shards.

Killian dragged Lainie alongside him.

The woman pushed the spectacles higher on her nose and peered at Lainie. There was something ... unnatural about the old woman's gaze, as if she saw things that no one else saw.

"She doan look crazy to me, Killian," she said at last in a singsongy voice that was surprisingly youthful. "She look scared."

He snorted. "What she looks like is trouble."

"So what you want wit' Viloula?"

"Find out who the hell she is and why she's here. She's got some ridiculous story about time travel."

Viloula drew in a sharp breath and looked at Lainie. "Dat true, child?"

Lainie bit her lip nervously. "It's true."

Viloula looked as if she were going to smile, but she didn't. She sat perfectly still, her face expressionless save for the piercing darkness of her eyes. "Dis make for a very interesting day. Sit down."

Lainie edged away from Killian and sat stiffly on the wooden chair across from Viloula. Her fingers dug into the splintery edge of the seat.

Killian made a snorting sound of disgust and reached for the door. "Good luck, Vi."

Viloula gave him a look that would curdle milk. "Both of you, sit down."

He glanced back. "I'm not listening to her horseshit, Viloula."

She crossed her skinny old arms and stuck her pointy chin out. "Den I woan neit'er."

Killian rolled his eyes and strode to the chair beside Lainie. Wrenching it backward, he sat down hard and crossed his arms, glaring at Viloula. "Happy?"

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