Ian dropped my hand and ran. I was right behind him.
Two blocks down and on the other side of the street, Ian went to the front door and turned the knob.
“Hey!” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You can’t—”
He shook me off and went in anyway. Years of training and a cop for a dad made me hesitate. But when I heard the crying and the shouting, I followed. With those kinds of noises, I could easily claim probable cause.
I found Ian tossing his herbs around the room again. Nora was crying and pointing at both him and what appeared to be her dead husband. I already knew, even before I saw his fear-frozen face, what had happened.
“What-what-what’s wrong with his eyes?” she sobbed.
I looked at Ben, whose eyes were a little bugged out. But Nora shouted, “Him!” and jabbed a shaking finger at Ian.
He still had eagle eyes. How was I going to explain that?
I put myself between them. “Ian. Your eyes.”
“I don’t see anything,” he said. “I think it’s gone.”
“Put them back before she strokes out.”
“Huh?” He glanced at me, and I gave an exaggerated blink. “Oh.” He did as I asked.
Nora sat on the bed. “Ben?” She patted his face, his hand, his chest. “It’s okay. Wake up.”
I doubted she’d remember any of this in a few hours. I knew shock when I saw it. I yanked a handmade afghan off the recliner in the corner and draped it around her shoulders. “Nora?”
“Shhh,” Ian murmured.
The tiny shushing sound fell into a silence broken only by Nora’s pleading and pats. Ian stared upward, tense, alert.
Slowly I stood, feeling it, too, something hovering above us, peering back and forth, picking, choosing, who would die and who would not.
“Repeat the charm, Grace.”
Ian didn’t even glance my way, but his vo
ice was so sharp and intense, I began to recite the words as if my great-grandmother herself had ordered me.
Whatever was here with us drew a breath. Shock? Fear? I paused, listening, and something bitch-slapped me across the room.
I flew off my feet; my shoulders hit the wall. My head snapped back. I heard the sick crack, a thud as I fell, then nothing.
* * *
“Grace?”
I couldn’t remember where I was. From the pain in my head, I was half-afraid I’d landed in the hospital, but then my senses came back one by one.
The soft sound of Nora weeping.
The hardwood floor beneath me.
The scent of Ian, the heat and strength of his hand in mine. His expression so worried, I got worried, too.
“Am I bleeding?”
“No. Though not for lack of trying. What happened?”