Light of the Sky (Of the Gods Book 2) Read online

My phone erupted again with the notification of a message. I saw Pete’s name on the illuminated screen. My fingers flew back to the bridge of my nose, pinching away the pain.

  I should just go back to bed.

  Instead, I flopped onto the sofa and flipped on the television. I couldn’t remember the last time I had time to get hooked on a series. Yet, I continued to pay the cable bill every month. Another expense I should eliminate.

  A heavy, tingling feeling settled in my temples, then traveled to my eyes. I allowed the pain killers to lull me into a light catnap.

  When I woke for the second time, the headache had diminished to a dull reminder. I peeled myself from the sofa and was resolved to get out of the house. Cami was not only expecting me, but she could cheer me. Perhaps she could help me make sense of the scene with Dane—his swift change from desire to regret, and the guilty, remorseful look on his face as the elevator door closed.

  I climbed the stairs to my lofted bedroom and looked to the wall I shared with Dane, wondering if he was home. Wondering if he was as confused as I was.

  I’d only known him a few days, but now I couldn’t seem to get him off my mind.

  I wasn’t much of an outdoorsy person, then again, I never had free time to spend outdoors. My twenties slipped by with studies and work. Now, I had nothing but time. Time to find my passion. Time to find my brother. Time to find my purpose.

  Maybe the accident was the best thing to happen to me.

  While a walk through the city of Milwaukee could hardly count as an expedition into the great outdoors, the parks along the route to Cami’s yoga studio offered blooming bushes and vibrantly colored flowers.

  The studio, much like Loft and Associates, was an easy walking distance from my apartment, yet I’d always driven. I wandered the city, feeling lost on streets I knew like the back of my hand. Before the accident, I could not remember walking anywhere.

  Always rushing, always working, never a free moment for myself.

  Cass Street hit Water Street, but instead of following the sidewalk, I gravitated toward the gravel path that led to a trail behind the abandoned Edson plant. The building, located in a prime area along the Milwaukee River, had been on the market for years, but asbestos deterred developers.

  Urban dwellers seeking nature frequented the many footpaths behind the building and around the river. An occasional altercation, mugging, or drug bust made the news, but in general, the area was considered safe. Clusters of trees and shrubs, thick enough for privacy but too sparse to be considered a forest, offered seclusion.

  The trail wound into the wooded area. I couldn’t see the river, but the sound of its gentle flow was within earshot. Towering elms provided an umbrella from July’s hot sun, cooling the air by several degrees and dampening the path. Goosebumps freckled my bare arms.

  I stopped walking to rub at them. A rustle echoed in the distance.

  Crunch, crunch. Frozen, I listened intently, unsure whether it was footsteps or an animal. Swish, swish. Fear caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise along with the goosebumps on my arms. My head slowly twisted as I waited for further signs of movement. Swoosh, swoosh.

  More alarming than the noise was the now familiar, unsettling awareness creeping over my skin. I was being watched.

  Crunch, crunch. The logical part of my mind reasoned the sound could have been a bird or squirrel, yet I remained paralyzed, holding my breath, feeling more and more like prey. Swish, swish. The trees whispered with the wind, a warning making my hairline wet with sweat. Swoosh, swoosh.

  The noises grew louder and closer, but I still was unable to place them. The leaves above swirled. I looked up and down, my eyes focusing on the overgrown bushes in front of me, darkened from the shadows of the towering trees above me.

  My heart pounded, pumping my blood so hard I could almost taste metal in my mouth.

  And then came a familiar sound, harsh and shrill. The guttural croak of a bird, followed by the rush of its flapping wings. Sounds bounced off the trees, creating an echoing roar that intensified with each slow second.

  Terror paralyzed me before instinct kicked in, urging me to run. I spun and fled, my sandals slipping against the wet leaves that had fallen over loose gravel. I ran without seeing, without thinking. The sounds faded as I neared the sidewalk, but I didn’t stop. No, my inner voice of caution catapulted me the eight blocks home.

  It wasn’t until I was outside of my building that my legs went still, and I bent, wheezing and clutching at my chest, desperate for air.

  “Are you okay?” an all-too-familiar voice called.

  I couldn’t look up, partially from mortification but mostly from the stab to my lungs and ribs.

  From my hunched position, I watched a set of legs bolt toward me.

  “Nova, what’s wrong?” Dane’s palm flattened against my back, and his head bent toward mine.

  “Nothing, I’m fine,” I assured, but tears streaked my cheeks.

  “What happened?” One hand stayed at my back while the other settled under my elbow, guiding me upright.

  “I just…” I sniffed and swiped at my face. “I went for a walk and my ribs are still sore.”

  “You went for a walk?” Dane asked, unconvinced. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The concern in his voice prompted fresh tears. I shrugged off his hold and repeated, my voice stronger, “I’m fine.”

  Dane followed me through the lobby and into the elevator.

  “I saw you running like a bat out of hell.” He placed both hands on my arms, turning me toward him.

  “I’m fine, just drop it,” I pleaded, meeting his eyes.

  He gave a nod and let go.

  We stepped off the elevator, each going to our respective doors. I jabbed my key into my doorknob when he called out again.

  “Can we talk?”

  I went still under the doorframe, and sighed. “Fine.”

  “Are you going to say anything besides fine?” Dane’s tone softened.

  “I don’t know.”

  “See, that’s better,” he teased gently and trailed in behind me.

  “Give me a minute.” I didn’t look back as I gingerly stepped up the stairs to my bedroom. In the confines of the bathroom, I pressed my fingers into my eyes, suppressing the tears, pushing them back down to my belly.

  You’re being silly. It was a bird—a harmless blackbird.

  I splashed cold water over my face, not even caring as it hit the skin glue. It was barely hanging on anyway.

  Returning downstairs, I stopped at the landing. Dane sat stiffly on the white leather sofa, staring absently at the abstract artwork that hung against a cream-colored wall.

  Minimal décor in varying shades of grey and white adorned my lower level. Sterile, simple, sophisticated. I’d utilized the small space well, having had the help of an interior designer. I realized, glancing around, that she’d selected mostly everything in the apartment. Nothing in here is me; nothing is mine. I shivered, feeling foreign and alone in my own home.

  I used to be a free spirit. I used to have passion. A lust for life.

  “Sorry,” I said, unsure whether I was apologizing to Dane or myself. I sighed. Dane’s head snapped to my direction. I dug a toe into the carpet.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again.

  “I am,” I answered, nodding. “Really.”

  “Okay.” He looked down to his hands. “I want to apologize for last night.”

  I moved to the accent chair across from him, settling myself onto a stiff cushion obviously chosen for aesthetics and not comfort.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, smart and kind. You deserve better than this. Me.” His arm waved toward himself. “I don’t know how long… I can’t start something…”

  “Okay. Is that it?” I stood up.

  With the accident, quitting my job, and worrying about Neal, I hardly needed another obstacle. So why was his rejection prompting a fresh round of tears?

  “Nova.” His
blue eyes pleaded.

  “What?” Now I was angry and finding my backbone. “For someone who doesn’t want to start something, you certainly extend a lot of invitations.”

  “You’re right. And I’m sorry.” His shoulders dropped, and he exhaled, sheepishly looking to his hands again.

  “So, is that it?” I repeated, moving toward the stairs. “I need to lay down.”

  “Fine.” Now it was Dane’s turn to use the ambiguous fine.

  I heard the door close behind him as I retreated to my room.

  Staring at my bedroom ceiling, I wished for a complete redo of the day. A redo of the week—no, the month. The headache was gone, but a heavy weight sat on my chest. I returned downstairs, stopping to open the patio door before preparing dinner. My cell phone, which I’d abandoned on the kitchen counter since morning, reminded me of Pete’s voicemail message from earlier.

  I half-heartedly listened to his invitation to a cocktail reception and dinner. The excitement of his good looks and sweet personality had faded since the kiss with Dane, yet I shot a quick reply agreeing to accompany him, then drafted another message for Cami to check-in and reschedule my visit.

  Even though I wasn’t hungry, I fixed a salad. Carrying the bowl with one hand, I grabbed a pillow off the sofa, and slipped outside to the patio.

  The sun still shone high in the sky. It illuminated the park below, casting a warm haze along the manicured bushes and flowerbeds. A humid breeze, thick with nature’s scent, brushed against my cheeks. I inhaled deeply, desperate to find peace in the day.

  I set the pillow against the brick wall to cushion my back and took a seat on the wooden planks of the patio floor. As I ate my salad, music from an outdoor concert flittered in the air. I glanced in the direction of Cathedral Park which hosted local bands on the weekend. My eyes caught Dane’s empty patio before dropping down to the salad bowl.

  Flowers and giggles. The little family next door. They are gone. I could hardly remember them—the woman and her young daughter—yet my heart seemed heavy at the thought that I’d never see them again. I wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye. Sighing, I dropped my fork into the bowl.

  “Hey neighbor,” Dane called from his balcony, which had been empty a minute ago.

  “Hi,” I mumbled.

  “I knew it. You eat like a rabbit.” Dane chuckled. He held a beer in one hand and a folding lawn chair in the other.

  I rolled my eyes toward my bowl, not looking up.

  Dane took a seat on his terrace. The metal poles of his patio fencing were a foot off from mine, offering a full view of his space, which meant he could just as easily see into mine.

  “You’re sitting on the floor?” he asked, pointing his beer toward my cushion.

  “No, my chair is just really tiny. And invisible.” Now I rolled my eyes at him.

  The corner of Dane’s mouth twitched up. “Fine. I was gonna offer you a seat, but enjoy your tiny, invisible chair.”

  I focused on my salad.

  “Can we call a truce? Be friends again?” he asked.

  But I hardly heard the words. A black flash from the park diverted my attention. I set the bowl down, and then pushed with the palms of my hands to leap to my feet. Goosebumps rose along my forearms, and I shivered, even though the outside temperature had to be over eighty degrees.

  “Did you see that?” I whispered, leaning over the edge.

  “What?” Dane looked from me to the park across the street.

  “Over there.” I pointed toward the northeast corner. My heart pounded. Tingles shot up my spine, and moisture dampened my neck. “What is that? A raven?”

  “A bird?” Dane asked, cocking his head.

  I turned on my heels, abandoning Dane and our conversation as I rushed out of my apartment and into the hallway. Flying down the stretch of doors to the exit, I took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping as I jumped to the landing.

  I pushed through the side door. The sun blinded brightly above—blinding like the lightning the night of the accident. I shielded my eyes, just as I did when I saw the driver and that woman.

  Neal’s face, his eyes widening before the darkness took over. The solemn, sad eyes of the woman by the telephone pole.

  Dane called from above, but I ignored him.

  An unnerving sensation. Feather-soft touches.

  Memories of the accident rang in my head as I crossed the street and stopped under the arched wrought-iron gate. The sun’s rays splattered the crisscrossing pathway that led from each corner of the park to the middle where the water fountain sat.

  I drew in a gulp of air before moving from under the archway, a mix of anxiety and fear bubbling in my stomach. Bushes lined the fencing and flowers filled the space, making it hard to see the farthest corner from ground level.

  But from my patio above, I saw it. I felt it, seemingly following me.

  Hushing my fears, sheltering me as my eyes fluttered closed.

  Something tugged at my hand, and I screamed.

  “Nova!” Dane’s hand wrapped around my bicep as concern creased his brow. “What are you doing?”

  “A bird—” I stopped. “There was…”

  I pressed at my temple with shaky fingers. My breath came out in heavy puffs as I shook my head.

  “Please, tell me what’s going on?” Dane asked softly. His concerned eyes shone as blue and wide as the sky.

  I nodded but didn’t speak. If I did, I knew the tears and composure I desperately clung to would break free. Dane wrapped his arms around me, and I sunk against his chest. He pulled me closer, and I trembled from suppressed fear and confusion.

  “You’re okay,” he murmured into my hair. His hands stroked my back until the shaking stopped. I pulled away, but Dane kept his arms around me. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  I let him guide me across the street, up the elevator, and back into my apartment. Beelining to the patio door, my feet remained planted inside as I looked out to the park.

  Dane gave me silence and space.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy,” I whispered.

  “No, I won’t,” he promised. “What happened?”

  My hand curled around the edge of the door. I scanned the park. Dane came from behind. I not only heard his steps, but I felt him—the tingling sensation of his nearness.

  “I think I’m going crazy,” I whispered again. Dane’s arms came from behind, and he gently spun me around.

  He shook his head. “No. No, you’re not. You’re just shaken up. What happened? Just now—and earlier today?”

  I traced the gash at my forehead, and then Dane’s finger followed suit, gingerly trailing over it.

  “The night of the accident…” I looked down to my hands. “The doctors said I must have had a guardian angel watching over me. But it wasn’t an angel.” I met his eyes. “It was death.”

  Nine

  Dane took a step back, and I closed my eyes.

  He thinks I’m nuts. I sound nuts.

  “It’s stupid. Just a silly feeling—”

  “No, it’s not,” Dane insisted, reaching for my hands. “You had a close call, Nov. That was a nasty accident. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” His thumbs stroked over the fat part of my palm. “I know what near death feels like. When I was active duty, I was an infantry guy—a grunt. I’ve been there too.”

  I looked up at sincere eyes probing mine. Fresh tears sprouted.

  “It wasn’t just the night of the accident. I’ve had dreams, nightmares.” I stopped, not wanting to even think about the horrid images and menacing sensations that had come alive in the last week. “A few nights ago, this morning, and now at the park… I can’t shake this feeling that something’s following me.” Tears trickled down my face, and snot dripped over my lips. I used the edge of my tank top to swipe my nose.

  Dane pulled me into his chest while his hand wove into my hair. His gentleness only made me cry harder.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I choked the words i
nto his shirt.

  “You’re safe now, Nova. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” His lips pressed into my hair.

  Dane waited until the quivers settled, and then he released his hold. I inched back, eye-level with the tears and snot that soaked his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” I groaned. If the ground opened and swallowed me at that moment, I’d thank it for saving me from my mortification.

  “This is what we’re gonna do,” Dane said, taking control. He pulled me to the couch and tugged at my arm until I sank into a cushion. “First, we’re going to stop apologizing to each other. And then we’re gonna get some real food. Okay?” He nodded, and I found my head bobbing along.

  “I need to shower, and—” I gestured toward my tear-streaked face when he cut me off.

  “Take a shower. Take your time. I can hang out here until you’re ready.” He patted the armrest, then motioned toward the television. “Did you cancel cable yet? I haven’t gotten to watch TV since I moved in. Take your time, Nov. I’ll be right here.”

  With the water temperature turned to hot, I scrubbed my scalp, desperate to wash away the ominous feelings and dark ideas in my head.

  It’s leftover shock from a horrible accident. Post-traumatic stress.

  I knew I had to move on, to let go, but until I found out what happened to the woman and the other driver, I feared the unsettling thoughts would continue to haunt me.

  The hours surrounding the accident slipped in and out of my memory, just like my consciousness after impact. Images would float to mind, then evaporate before I had the chance to absorb them. The woman’s face. The driver’s eyes—which in my muddled memory had morphed to my brother’s. The darkness that took over. The fog. The fear.

  After impact, I’d fought to keep my eyes open. My vision was too fuzzy to focus on any one thing. But through the haze, I felt it.

  Death.

  Maybe it hadn’t claimed me, but what about the young woman? She stood next to the pole, right where my car had landed seconds after I spotted her.

  I didn’t have the courage to read the police report or ask about her status. Maybe my conscience needed that closure.