Hexed

everybody?”
    My voice bounces and echoes and comes right back at me.
    This isn’t at all like the first time when I arrived to be instantly guided to my objective.
    Which, in hindsight, was a mistake on someone’s part, now, wasn’t it?
    I hunker down to wait.
     
    I FEEL THEIR eyes on me.
    Someone or something watching. For what? For me to make a break for it?
    Christ. I don’t know where I am. I don’t even know if there’s a break to make for. As far as I can see, I’m surrounded by a great barren sea of nothingness.
    I straighten, stretch, release a deep, impatient breath. The waiting is getting old.
    When I glance at my watch, I see it has stopped. Since it’s a Rolex and works on the principle of perpetual motion, something in this universe must affect time. At least, time as we know it on earth. Stop it or slow it down.
    Interesting.
    My right palm begins to itch. I glance down, not wanting to be obvious to prying eyes. Susan’s charm glows softly just below the surface of the skin. I wish she could have told me what it does.
    I rub both hands against my thighs, the rough denim fabric of my jeans offering a little relief.
    A sound. I straighten with a jerk. Look around, though I have no idea where the sound originated or what exactly it was. I strain to listen. The silence is deafening. This is like being in a sensory deprivation chamber.
    “Anna Strong?”
    At the sound of the voice so close behind me, I swing around, fists clenched, every muscle taut as an arrow in a bow, ready to spring. I square off, actually draw back a fist before I realize who I’m looking at.
    “You’re Stephen.”
    He clearly hasn’t recognized me yet. He nods, standing his ground, not flinching or cringing away from my offensive reaction to his appearance.
    Earns him a few points.
    My shoulders drop about six inches. I let my hands fall, my muscles relax, my fists unclench. I blow out a breath and look him over.
    He’s as handsome as his picture—more so, really, without the stage makeup and carefully coiffed hair. He’s tall, over six feet, looks well muscled under a loose-fitting polo shirt and not-so-loose-fitting khakis. He has a strong face, straight nose, wide-set eyes, full mouth. Details I didn’t notice last night. His hair is longer than in the picture, too, brushed back, touching the collar of his shirt.
    “You look all right. Are you?”
    He smiles. It’s a good smile.
    “If you can call being kidnapped and brought to”—he waves a hand—“wherever the hell this is and told I’m being held until some murderer shows up to face justice, and if he doesn’t, my life is forfeit—” He pauses to catch his breath. “Well, if that’s what you mean by all right, I guess I am.”
    He stops, narrows his eyes. “Wait a minute.”
    It’s about time. “Yeah. It’s me. Last night in the parking lot.”
    “ You’re Anna Strong? The one Susan said would come to take me back?”
    “One and the same.”
    “Shit. You cost me a story. A guy named Smith said he had some information for me that would blow the ring off a local drug gang.”
    “You cost me a payday, so I guess we’re even.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’m a bounty hunter. Your source skipped on a hefty bail.”
    He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “So we were both in that parking lot at the same time, and now we’re both here. Huge cosmic coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Coincidence? I doubt it.” I wave a hand to take in our surroundings. “But right now, don’t you think we have bigger problems?”
    He still looks chagrined, like a kid who had his favorite toy yanked away. I want to shake him but instead I glom on to something he said. “You talked to Susan? When?”
    “Right after I arrived . . . Where are we, anyway? Do you know? Can we get out of here now? If you’re here, whoever they’ve been waiting for must be, too.”
    No way I can answer that without bursting his optimistic bubble. Besides, I’m more interested in his communication with his sister than answering his questions. My palm is itching again. If he’s in contact with her, she can explain how this charm works. “How did you get in touch with her?”
    He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. “You’ll think this sounds crazy, but we can communicate telepathically sometimes.”
    I have to choke back a laugh. Sound crazy? Vampires do it all the time. But clearly Stephen doesn’t know that. Or he doesn’t know I’m a vampire. I