Page 64 of When the Sky Breaks

“Promise,” I replied. “There’s so many sheep.”

“I like sheep,” Sorcha mumbled, groggy.

“Now sleep,” I instructed. “Just sleep.”

It was freezing. The air was dry. And there was a heavy, dead weight in my arms. I wasn’t in New Orleans, not in Houston either, not on the steamship.

I was back in the Sangre de Cristos, Sorcha’s body clutched up against my chest.

But something was off. Something was wrong.

She was cold in my arms. And she was still. Too still.

Something wet, hot, and sticky leaked onto my hands where they were clasped behind her back, and I startled, shifting her to see. My stomach dropped as I beheld the three gunshot wounds clustered between her shoulder blades, leaking blood.

The wind picked up. Lightning cracked overhead.

No.

It wasn’t lightning.

A portal.

A portal that opened and revealed not an eldritch demon but the man who’d tried to kidnap Sorcha back in Houston, rifle in hand, face split open with a horrifying smile. I tried to scream, tried to do something. But I was paralyzed. I couldn’t even take a real breath.

And then.

I startled awake.

It took a moment to get my bearings, eyes scanning the dark wood paneling, faded oriental carpets, oddly gaudy chandeliers, and overall air of gloom. Ansel had a lamp lit by the settee in the corner, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he crouched by the side of our bed, watching. I raked a hand over my face, trying to decide if the look on Ansel’s face was one of pity, amusement, or contempt.

I then ran a hand along Sorcha’s back where she slept next to me, feeling her warmth, feeling her breath. She was fine, I reassured myself. She was fine.

But I had to check. So I pulled back the fabric of her nightgown, hands tracing along the bare skin over her spine. No scars. No marks. No wounds.

She was fine.

We were all trapped in this hellhole of a city.

But she was fine.

“You scream like that again you’re gonna wake her up, lad,” Ansel said, tone dry and sardonic.

I took a deep breath and tried to slow my racing heartbeat.

“You going back to sleep?” Ansel asked. “Or you want to sit up and keep watch with me?”

“She’ll sleep better with me here,” I replied near automatically.

“Not if you have another fit like that she won’t,” Ansel muttered, returning to his place on the sofa.

“Shut up, Ansel,” I mumbled, laying back down, pulling Sorcha’s warm, still-breathing body into my arms, and trying to sleep.

Sorcha reacted first. I felt her shaking me awake moments before the crackling, snapping sound of a portal opening split the air. A bright flash filtered through the curtains. The air felt electrified, like lightning was about to strike. Ansel was already on his feet, holstering weapons and grabbing his coat. I expected screaming. The sound of running footsteps out on the street. But the cadence of the city, carrying up from the streets below, didn’t change. It remained quiet. Eerily composed. Soft voices. Horses walking. The sound of music in the farther distance.

We heard the portal close. And still no reaction. Nothing.

“Did no one else hear?” Sorcha asked.