Nora Roberts - The Hollow

“This is now, but you’re only giving me more questions. Tell me where you went before the night of the fire at the Pagan Stone.”

“To live, as he asked of me. To give life that was precious. They were my faith, my hope, my truth, and it was love that conceived them. Now you are my hope. You must not lose yours. He never has.”

“Who? Giles Dent? Fox,” Layla realized. “You mean Fox.”

“He believes in the justice of things, in the right of them.” She smiled now, with absolute love. “This is his great strength, and his vulnerability. Remember, it seeks weakness.”

“What can I- Damn it!” Ann was gone, and the phone was ringing.

She’d write it down, Layla thought as she hurried back to the desk. Every word, every detail. She damn well had something to do now.

She reached for the phone. And picked up a hissing snake.

The scream tore out of her as she flung the writhing black mass away. Stumbling back, more screams bubbling up in her throat, she watched it coil like a cobra with its long, slanted eyes latched on hers. Then it lowered its head and began to slither across the floor toward her. Prayers and pleas jostled in her head as she backed toward the door. Its eyes glowed red as it surged, lightning fast, to coil again between her and the exit.

She heard her breath, coming too fast, in quick pants now that hitched and clogged in her throat. She wanted to turn and run, but the fear of turning her back on it was too great. It began to uncoil, inch by sinuous inch, began to wind toward her.

Was it longer now? Oh God, dear God. Its skin glistened an oily black, and it undulated as it slunk its way across the floor. Its hissing intensified when her back hit the wall. When there was nowhere left to run.

“You’re not real.” But the doubt in her voice was clear even to her, and it continued to come. “Not real,” she repeated, struggling to draw in her breath. Look at it! she ordered herself. Look at it and see. Know. “You’re not real. Not yet, you bastard.”

Gritting her teeth, she shoved away from the wall. “Go ahead. Slither, strike, you’re not real .” On the last word she slammed her foot down, stabbing the heel of her boot through the oily black body. For an instant, she felt substance, she saw blood ooze out of the wound and was both horrified and revolted. As she ground down with all of her might, she felt its fury and, more satisfying, its pain.

“Yeah, that’s right, that’s right. We hurt you before, and we’ll hurt you again. Go to hell, you-”

It struck. For an instant, one blinding instant, the pain was her own. It sent her pitching forward. Before she could scramble up to fight, to defend, it was gone.

Frantic, she yanked up her pants leg, searching for a wound. Her skin was unbroken, unmarred. The pain, she thought as she crawled toward her purse, was an illusion. It made her feel pain, it had that much in it. But not enough to wound. Her hands shook as she fumbled her phone out of her bag.

In court, she remembered, Fox was in court. Can’t come, can’t help. She hit speed dial for Quinn. “Come,” she managed when Quinn answered. “You have to come. Quick.”

"WE WERE ON OUR WAY OUT THE DOOR WHEN you called,” Quinn told her. “You didn’t answer the phone, your cell or the office number.”

“It rang.” Layla sat on the sofa in reception. She’d gotten her breath back, and had nearly stopped shaking. “It rang, but when I picked it up…” She took the bottle of water Cybil brought her from the kitchen. “I threw it over there.”

When she gestured, Cybil walked over to the desk. “It’s still here.” She lifted the phone off its charger.

“Because I never picked it up,” Layla said slowly. “I never picked anything up. It just made me think I did.”

“But you felt it.”

“I don’t know. I heard it. I saw it. I thought I felt it.” She looked down at her hand, and couldn’t quite suppress a shudder.

“Cal’s here,” Cybil said with a glance out the window.

“We called him.” Quinn rubbed Layla’s arm. “We figured we might as well bring in the whole cavalry.”

“Fox is in court.”

“Okay.” Quinn rose from her crouch in front of Layla when Cal came in.

“Is everyone all right? Nobody’s hurt?”

“Nobody’s hurt.” With her eyes on Cal, Quinn laid a hand on Layla’s shoulder. “Just freaked.”

“What happened?”

“We were just getting to that. Fox is in court.”

“I tried to reach him, got his voice mail. I didn’t leave a message. I figured if he was out he didn’t need to hear something was wrong when he’d be driving. Gage is on the way.” Cal walked over, running a hand down Quinn’s arm before he sat down beside Layla.

“What happened here? What happened to you?”

“I had visitors from both teams.”

She told them about Ann Hawkins, pausing first when Quinn pulled out her recorder, then again when Gage came in.

“You said you heard her speak?” Cal asked.

“We had a conversation right here. Just me and a woman who’s been dead for three hundred years.”

“But did she actually speak?”

“I just said… Oh. Oh. How stupid am I?” Layla set the water aside, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I’m supposed to stay in the moment, pay attention to the now, and I didn’t. I wasn’t.”

“It was probably a fairly big surprise to turn around and see a dead woman standing at your desk,” Cybil pointed out.

“I was wishing I had something to do, something to keep me busy, and, well, be careful what you wish for. Let me think.” She closed her eyes now, tried to picture the episode. “In my head,” she murmured. “I heard her in my head, I’m almost sure. So I had, what, a telepathic conversation with a dead woman. It gets better and better.”

“Sounds more like a pep talk from her end,” Gage pointed out. “No real information, just get out there and give your all for the team.”

“Maybe it’s what I needed to hear. Because I can tell you the pep talk might have turned the tide when the other visitor showed up. The phone rang. It was probably you,” she said to Quinn. “Then-”

She broke off when the door opened. Fox breezed in. “Somebody’s having a party and didn’t… Layla.” He rushed across the room so quickly Quinn had to jump back or be bowled over. “What happened?” He gripped both her hands. “Snake? For fuck’s sake. You’re not hurt.” He yanked up her trouser leg before she could answer.

“Stop. Don’t do that. I’m not hurt. Let me tell it. Don’t read me that way.”

“Sorry, it didn’t feel like the moment for protocol. You were alone. You could’ve-”

“Stop,” she commanded, and deliberately pulled her hands from his, just as she deliberately tried to block him out of her mind. “Stop. I can’t trust you if you push into my head that way. I won’t trust you.”

He drew back, on every level. “Fine. Fine. Let’s hear it.” “Ann Hawkins came first,” Quinn began, “but we’ll go back to that if it’s okay with you. She’s just run that one.”

“Then keep going.”

“The phone rang,” Layla said again, and told them.

“You hurt it,” Quinn said. “On your own, by yourself. This is good news. And I like the boots.”

“They’ve recently become my favorite footwear.”

"But you felt pain.” Cal gestured to her calf. “And that’s not good.”

“It was only for a second, and I don’t know-honestly don’t-how much of it was panic or the expectation of pain. I was so scared, for obvious reasons, then add in the snake. I was hyperventilating, and couldn’t stop at first. I’d have passed out, I think, if I hadn’t been more afraid of having a snake slithering all over me while I was unconscious. I have a thing.”