- 7
-
Michael muttered something under his breath.
Ilene couldn’t distinguish the words, but the tone made the intent
clear. In the darkness, she couldn’t see the color and pattern of
the magic well enough to recognize a signature. The smell reminded
her of what she’d sensed before the storm and then again behind the
hotel.
She had a hard time keeping up when Michael
began running along the beach toward his house. He was almost ten
feet ahead of her when she noticed something that terrified her
even more. Mixing in with the damp salty tang of the sea, a cloying
acetone aroma stung her nose.
“Michael!”
Her scream got his attention. He stopped,
swung around toward her impatiently, and in the process he saw it.
On their right, the last wave had retreated farther than normal.
