Page 539 of Shadowblood Souls
I catch myself starting to worry at my lip and push to my feet. I’ve got to do something to distract myself.
Why not practice my stealth skills while I’m in see-through mode? I don’t really like the idea of spying on anyone in Rollick’s home, but it’d be good practice to simply move through the house quickly and quietly, making sure I don’t disturb anyone I pass.
I go through the motions of pretending I’m on an actual mission with enemies around every corner. My hand stays braced on the doorknob until I’m sure there’s no sound in the hall outside. Then I slip out as deftly and swiftly as possible.
Riva’s outside, somewhere not far to the north of the house. I can sense her presence distinctly, like I have ever since we first slept together and our matching marks bound our essence together.
My friends, I only have a vaguer impression of—a faint tickle of energy that comes from their powers. If I concentrate, I can tell who’s who based on what those powers are and what direction they’re in, but not how far away.
And I’m pretty sure that awareness only works when they’re not far at all. I’d know how to find Riva no matter where in the world she went, but my awareness of the guys dwindles with distance.
The other beings hanging out around this place, I have no sense of at all. I slink past the dining room, where a couple of the shadowkind Rollick is particularly friendly with are having a conversation about the steaks one of them apparently fried, and pass Billy plinking away at a piano in the mansion’s music room, but that’s it.
From what I’ve seen, most of the shadowkind prefer sticking to their shadows unless there’s a specific reason they need to take physical form. I kind of wish that wasn’t the case, because if I wanted to spy on anyone, it’d be the less friendly allies whose allegiances to us are shakier.
But if they’re having conversations about how far to follow us into this war, it’s someplace as invisible to me as I am to them—and inaudible as well.
I’m just coming up on the front foyer with its massive looming skylight when the first creeping of discomfort ripples over my skin.
The unnerving sensation squirms through my nerves from my fingertips to my elbows. I jerk to a halt with a hitch of breath.
When I splay and clench my hands, the feeling eases. My heart keeps thumping on at its sped-up pace.
Should I pull myself out now? If that sign is anything like before, it’s only the start.
I don’t know if it’ll be like before, though. Maybe there won’t be any progression, only that mild irritation.
That’s why I’m experimenting, isn’t it? To find my limits.
To figure out exactly how far I can go with my abilities before I doom myself… and anyone I’ve worked them on.
I take a few slow breaths to steady my nerves and think back through the many memories I’ve viewed in people’s heads over the years to the avid surfer who chased thrills around the world. His vivid recollections of riding the waves, water roaring beneath him and wind flicking cool spray across his face,were exhilarating, but my favorite moment was a snippet of a conversation I came across.
Don’t you ever get scared?one of his friends asked him, and he simply laughed.
As long as I’ve got my board under my feet or my hand, I know I’m okay, he said.I’ll get through it.
I’m still here. I’ve got the floor beneath me and the walls around me, all perfectly tangible. While I have that, I should be able to pull out of my invisibility and be all right, even if it’s hard.
I don’t actually know if that’s true, but focusing on the thought settles my nerves. I walk on out of the house.
It’s harder to stay completely unnoticeable in the outdoors. My body hasn’t lost its gravity; my feet press indents into the grass and the gritty soil.
No one’s close enough to see those signs of my passing right now, but in a real mission, it could be a problem.
The best solution that offers itself is to stick to solid materials. I leap across some decorative tiles set in one span of the lawn and teeter along the edge of a broad wooden planter filled with drooping flowers.
The minor acrobatics take my mind off my worries until another prickling ripple washes over my skin.
This one wriggles up from my feet as well as along my arms, converging on my chest. My balance wobbles, and I stumble off the planter.
The soft thud of my feet on the grass brings other footsteps from around the side of the house. Toni comes into view and frowns at the apparently vacant garden before her. “Is someone there?”
The prickles are racing right between my ribs now, making my breath catch. Fear spikes alongside the physical distress.
Is my balance still wobbling—my sense of the ground itself wavering?
I jerk myself back toward visibility with a shove of my power. My body reforms, the sunlight glancing off my face and bringing out the vibrant red of my shirt.
