It was his own undependable senses that kept him from reaching out to her now, touching her, anchoring her. Even more so than usual during a storm, he felt almost disconnected from the sensory input his body and mind were accustomed to. Everything was muffled, distant, beyond his reach.
All he knew for sure was that what Diana was doing was dangerous. And necessary.
That was what he couldn't get past, that strong certainty that she had to do this, that it was important. And that if he interfered, if he yanked her back from wherever she had to be right now, he would regret it.
The question was, could he trust even his own deepest certainties? Could he trust his instincts?
Because if he couldn't, and he waited too long before trying to draw her back... she could be beyond his or anyone's reach.
"She's done this before," he heard himself mutter as he paced and watched her. "For years, she's done it, decades. I wasn't there then, and she got back without my help. Without anyone's help. She can get back now."
If she was as strong as he believed she was.
If she was strong enough.
Quentin hated this. He hated waiting, hated standing by with nothing to do except worry. He'd been forced to do it more than once in the past and, in fact, suspected that Bishop had from time to time put him in that position quite deliberately in order to teach him some patience.
Confronted with Quentin's suspicion, Bishop hadn't denied it. But he hadn't confirmed it either.
Par for the course.
In any case, if a lesson had been intended, Quentin had yet to learn it. It went against his deepest instincts, his very nature, to allow someone else to take the active role while he waited around twiddling his thumbs. Especially when that person was, despite her strength, damaged and fragile and someone he cared about—
A loud crash of thunder sounded almost deafening in his ears the brilliant flash of lightning so blinding that for an instant he was totally in the dark and abruptly alone inside his own head. Except for...
Now. Hurry. Before it's too late.
The storm had his senses so scrambled that he thought it was a wonder he could even hear that whisper in his mind. Or maybe it had been whispering for a long time now, and he'd been unable to hear it.
Suddenly afraid he had waited too long, Quentin hurried back to Diana's side and took her cool hand in his, holding it strongly.
Nothing. No reaction, no response. She sat there, still and silent, her eyes closed, face peaceful.
He had never been called upon to be someone's lifeline, but Quentin had learned long ago that the mind could do remarkable things if properly motivated and harnessed.
Concentrating, fiercely closing out the distraction of the storm, he fixed all his will on reaching Diana and pulling her back to him.
CHAPTER 14
“Missy, where are you taking me?" The uneasiness Diana felt was increasing, building, and she had the sudden, frightened notion that this spirit of her supposed sister might be far less benevolent than Diana had assumed her to be. "There's something I have to show you."
"Why can't you just tell me whatever it is you want me to know?" Diana was looking around, trying to figure out where in the hotel they were. But the corridor was peculiarly featureless in the gray time — even more so than usual — and seemed to stretch ahead of them forever. "This isn't right," she added before Missy could reply. "This looks—"
"There's something Quentin's forgotten," Missy said, ignoring both the question and comment. "What?"
"Because of what happened to me, he thinks it's about children."
Diana only partly heard, because Missy had turned a corner as she spoke, and to her surprise Diana found herself looking at a green door. It was the only spot of color she had ever seen in the gray time.
"You have to remember this place, Diana. This door."
"Why?" Diana was doing her best to think clearly, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
"Because you'll be safe here. When it's important, when you need a safe place, come here."
"I thought... all places were the same in the gray time."
"Not this place. It's a special place, in your time as well as here. It's protected. Don't forget."
Diana wanted to ask more questions, but before she could, Missy was going on.
"Diana, listen to me. Quentin always believed it was about children, but it isn't. Children are easiest because they're so often vulnerable, unprotected. Easy prey. It feeds off fear. You remember the terror of a child, don't you, Diana?"
Her lips felt oddly stiff and very cold when Diana murmured, "Yes. I remember."
"It isn't about the children. It isn't even about me. It's about punishment. It's about judgment. He was judged. And punished."
Again, Diana wanted to question, wanted to understand all this more clearly. But before she could speak, they both heard/felt it.
Tha-thum.
Tha-thum.
Tha-thum!
Missy's face changed, and she said quickly, "You have to go back. Now. It can cross over too, Diana, don't forget that. And a medium's mind can be the most vulnerable of all. If it finds you—"
"Missy, I don't understand."
"You will." Missy reached out and took Diana's hand, her small one surprisingly warm rather than cold. "Don't forget the green door. But go back now. Reach for Quentin."
Diana wasn't sure she could, because her mind felt sluggish and cold, and doing anything at all required too much effort of her. But the warmth of Missy's small hand seemed to chase away part of the chill...
Tha-thum!
Tha-thum!
She could feel the floor underneath her vibrate, as though under the steps of something immeasurably heavy, and the grayness around her seemed to be darkening, shading toward black. She tried to reach out mentally, thinking of Quentin, needing to be with him.
There was a bright flash of light, then another, and between them the gray was getting darker and darker.
"Hurry," Missy said. "It's—"
"—here," Diana said, opening her eyes.
"Jesus, don't do that to me again," Quentin said.
She turned her head and looked at him, a little dazed and more than a little confused. He was holding her hand, and his felt warm and strong, and she was once again conscious of that unfamiliar sense of security.
Safe. She was safe. Now.
"Are you all right?" he demanded.
"I think so."
He drew a breath and released it, clearly relieved. He didn't let go of her hand. "Another visit to the gray time?"
Diana nodded slowly.
"Another guide?"
"Missy."
That caught him off guard. "You talked to her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
Diana told him, about the green door and Missy's warning that "it" wasn't about hurting children but was about punishment and judgment.
"I don't remember a green door in this place," he said.
"Me either."
"But it's a safe place for you."
Trying to remember exactly what she'd been told, Diana said, "I think so. Something about it being a protected place here and in the gray time."
A bit grim, Quentin said, "If she offered you a safe place, it must mean she believes you'll need one."
A cold finger glided up Diana's spine. "I guess so."
"And she said it's about judgment, about punishment."
"Yes. Because he was judged and punished. That killer."
"Samuel Barton."
"Yes."
Quentin digested that for a few moments, frowning, then said, "What else?"
She didn't know if he was using any of his extra senses or if her face was an open book to him, but she knew she had to answer. So she did, telling him what Missy had said about her deepest fears of being unable to handle her abilities and becoming trapped between two worlds, about her terror over what had happened to her mother. And it was only then that Diana remembered something else.