“Do you.”
She nodded. “You have big plans for that girl down there,” Georgie said, her palms flat on the wide arms of the rocker as she rode it gently back and forth. “She know about them?”
“Not yet. She’s had a bad time of it.”
Georgie’s gaze drifted down the path toward the cabin. “She’s got a lot of darkness in her.”
Dalton stared down the road. He wished he could see the cabin from here. He shouldn’t have left Isabelle alone. The urge to go back there grew stronger. “Yeah, she does.”
“So do you.”
He snapped his gaze back to Georgie. “What are you talking about?”
“My grandmother filled me in from what she knew, what my great-grandmother told her. The rest I can sense.”
“What can you sense?”
“There’s conflict in you, Dalton. And within me.”
He frowned. “What are you conflicted about?”
“Whether to help your Isabelle or not.”
She wasn’t his Isabelle. He’d need to make sure Georgie understood that. “Why wouldn’t you help her? Help me? Your great-grandmother did.”
“Those were different circumstances, and you know why. We owed you. Now you want help for Isabelle. Why?”
“Because what happened to her isn’t her fault.”
Georgie studied him. “But maybe her destiny. And something you shouldn’t interfere in.”
Dalton sucked in a breath. He’d interfered before, and it had cost him dearly. “I’m right about this, Georgie. I know I am. Isabelle doesn’t deserve this.”
Georgie folded her hands in her lap, seeming to contemplate while rocking. Dalton knew better than to push it, so he waited for her to speak. When she looked up, her gaze was penetrating.
“I think you need to take some time while you’re here. Search your heart, Dalton, and determine whether you’re really out to save Isabelle’s soul. Or your own.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Isabelle knew she had slept some, but it wasn’t a good, deep sleep. She felt ragged and cranky when she woke near dawn, gray light filtering through the blinds in her bedroom. The nightmare that always seemed to latch on to her evaporated almost immediately, its fuzzy edges still attached like tentacles to the shadows of her mind. Despite Dalton’s advice to remember, she wanted to shake it loose permanently, so she slid out of bed and got dressed, brushed her teeth and wound her hair up in a ponytail, then went out into the kitchen to make coffee.
Dalton was already up, coffee made. She inhaled the scent of caffeine and picked up her step. Coffee would banish the demons.
Dalton sat at the table, drinking in the still-dark kitchen.
“Don’t you sleep?” she asked, filling a cup and sitting.
“Not much. I’m used to being on a hunt. I can do with just a few hours.”
“So this is like vacation for you.”
He arched a brow. “Uh, yeah.”
“I’ll bet you hate downtime.”
“I’m not used to it.”
“Me, either.” She took a long sip of coffee and waited for the caffeine to surge. “I’m used to starting digs before dawn and working until sunset. Doing nothing is going to make me crazy.”
He nodded. “You’re not here to do nothing.”
“Good. What am I here to do?”
“First thing is to get you strong again.”
She practically inhaled the first cup of coffee and went to pour another. “And you’re going to help me with that.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Battle exercises for the physical. You’re not a demon hunter.”
“You planning to make me one?”
“When the Sons of Darkness show up, I want you prepared. But not just physically.”
She took a seat across the table from him and cupped the mug of steaming coffee. “How else?”
“Mentally. Working on your psychic skills. Try to get you to clear the cobwebs.”
“What am I supposed to do-sit around and channel my inner demon?”
“That would be helpful.”
She laughed. “I don’t think you really want me doing that. I thought the idea was to keep the demon away.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Which means what exactly?” She hated when he got vague and mysterious like this.
“It means that the more we know about what’s going on with you and the Sons of Darkness-what kind of hold they have on you-the better prepared we’ll be to fight them.”
Why did she feel like a guinea pig here? She didn’t like this. “So you want me to bring out the demon?”
He shrugged. “We’ll just take it as it comes, one day at a time.”
She rolled her eyes. “So not helpful. A plan of attack would be better.”
“You can’t plan for what you don’t know, Isabelle.” He pushed back from the chair, refilled his cup, and started dragging bowls, pots, and pans out of cabinets. She rose and went to the refrigerator for eggs, bacon, and butter, working silently alongside him fixing breakfast.
It felt … good. Normal. Cooking and eating together. They even did the dishes side by side. And she found it all enjoyable, which was strange since she hated all this domestic stuff. A few months back she’d dreamed of being successful enough to have servants to do all this for her, or to live out of hotels and eat in the finest restaurants. Now she just wanted a chance at having a normal life where she could cook and do dishes. Funny how one’s outlook could change so drastically. What used to be so important to her wasn’t anymore. She’d once wanted to be rich, famous, a successful archaeologist.
Now she just wanted to be human. And alive. She wanted to do dishes.
“So when do we start?”
Dalton wiped his hands on the dish towel. “Feel strong enough today?”
She nodded. “Definitely. Anything’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”
“You’d better change clothes.” He glanced down at her khaki shorts and white tank. “You’re going to get dirty.”
“I can handle getting dirty. Clothes are washable.” Besides, none of these were her clothes anyway. Every thing she wore now Dalton had bought for her along the way from Sicily.
He shrugged. “Okay. Put on boots and I’ll meet you in the back.”
After putting on socks and her boots, she met him outside. He’d changed into camo pants and a muscle shirt, along with those heavy shit-kicker boots he liked to wear. Those things must have weighed ten pounds each. Isabelle didn’t know how he walked in them, let alone managed to sneak around like a ghost.
“So what are we going to do today?” she asked.
“See those woods back there? We’re going to hike.”
She tilted her head. “Hike? That’s it?”
His lips curled. “Yeah. That’s it. Come on.”
They set out down the walkway from the front of the house, side by side along the path leading east. Away from the main house, into the dense trees and foliage of the woods where there was no path, where it looked like no one had been before.
Isabelle found herself behind Dalton, stepping wherever he stepped, because soon they were in the thick of overhanging cypress and gnarled bushes with thorns, and she suddenly wished she’d worn long sleeves. Though the thought of it made her sweat even more than she already was. She was thoroughly drenched through her bra and tank top, and her shorts clung to her. The humidity was unbearable, and the sun had long ago disappeared from under the canopy of treetops bunched close together overhead. She couldn’t imagine how bad it would be if the light and heat were blasting down on them from above.
But despite the discomfort, Isabelle was happy for something to do to occupy herself. It was mindless effort and she found herself enjoying the push of her boots against the mushy swamp soaked earth, stepping up over a twisted branch every few feet, keeping her focus sharp for roots coming up from the ground so she wouldn’t trip. Dalton kept a brisk pace so she had to hustle to keep up. And he didn’t say much, which was fine with her since she had to use all her lung power just to keep moving.