Clean Sweep
Page 23

The magic streamed from me, pooling in the concrete like an invisible puddle.
Innkeepers had limits. Basic poltergeist was all most could hope for with a non-inn building. If you could mess with wires, you were way ahead of the pack.
Don't think about it. It's only impossible because nobody has done it before. I had no choice. I had to do it.
My skin went numb, but the inside of my arms hurt as if someone had hooked my veins and slowly began pulling them out of my body.
God, it hurt.
Don't think about it.
Just do it.
My body shook from the strain. The pain wrapped around my spine. I could barely breathe. It wasn't just pain, it was Pain with a capital P, the kind of agony that blocked out everything else.
The concrete was saturated. I could give no more.
I strained.
The pain lashed out like a white-hot whip across my back. A hair-thin crack slid across the aisle. The floor split.
That's right. That's exactly it.
The gap widened. The olive-oil bottle slid into it.
Just a little more. I clenched my teeth and pulled the inert concrete apart.
The body toppled into it.
Yes.
The world was growing dim. I wasn't passing out. I was just stuck in this horrible place between life and dying and it was made of hurt. I paused above the gap and for a second I thought I'd fall into it too.
Opening it wasn't enough. I had to close it. I pulled the concrete back. Come on. I might have as well have tried to push a semi out of the way. Come on.
My legs and arms shook. Slowly the concrete moved, inch by tiny inch. Come on.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't close it.
Yes, I could. It was my duty to close it. I would close it.
The pain wrapped around me like a scorching blanket.
The last inch of the gap disappeared. The concrete smoothed.
I couldn't get up. Oh no.
I grabbed the metal shelving, clung to it and pulled myself up. My head swam. I leaned onto my cart and pushed it. Got to go. Got to get out of the store. I forced myself to walk. My shoes must've sprouted needles, because walking hurt.
I turned behind the freezers and kept going. Through the gap I saw the dark-haired woman hurry across the floor, followed by a man in a black polo shirt and khakis. I'm sorry. You helped me, and because of me they will think you're crazy. If I ever had a chance, I would repay the favor.
I passed another aisle, wiped the handle of my cart with my shirt, and walked away from it. My shoulders were bleeding. I veered toward the tables with clothes and grabbed a dark sweatshirt. Slipping it on hurt. I kept the tag in plain view and headed for the checkout.
The shortest line had four people in it.
"Ma'am, I can help you over here!" A man. Average size. Dark hair. Costco tag.
I followed him and showed him the tag.
"Just the sweatshirt?" he asked.
I forced the word out of my mouth. "Yes."
"Your card."
I reached into my purse, fumbled with my wallet, pulled out the Costco card, scanned it, handed him a twenty, got a dollar in change, and then there was the door and I walked through it and out into the sun, car keys in hand.
My silver Chevy HHR was all the way at the end of the lane. I had always parked at the far end of the parking lot, both because it made leaving easier and because it put my car as far away from the security cameras as I could get. Today my habit would cost me.
The asphalt stretched in front of me. I put one foot in front of the other. The parking lot was doing a jig and it was making me dizzy. The heat of Texas summer assaulted me. I pulled the sweatshirt off.
If I passed out in the parking lot, it wouldn't be good. It would be very terrible.
I swayed and managed the last couple of feet, squeezing the remote of the car keys. The doors clicked and I slid into the back seat, shut the door, and lay flat.
Is this what dying felt like? Had I managed to kill myself? Mom? Dad? Do you know what happens now?
Snap out of it. I pulled my phone out of my jeans and fumbled with the icons. Last call. Sean.
"Hello," Sean's voice said into my ear.
I struggled to say something but I had no voice.
"Dina, are you okay?"
What happened to my voice?
"Are you hurt?"
...
"Where are you?"
I tried to hit the button for text message. Someone had turned my fingers into limp things that refused to obey. Here it is. C... O... S... The text showed complete gibberish. Ok, this won't work.
Attach picture. Attach. I got it on the third try and held the phone straight up. The camera clicked. I pushed Send on the screen.
The phone slipped out of my fingers.
If I died in the parking lot of Costco, I would be very unhappy in my afterlife.
Chapter Twelve
I didn't lose consciousness. I thought I would, but I just lay there on the seat, gulping the air like a fish out of water and hurting. My mouth had gone dry and bitter. I had this absurd feeling my tongue had shriveled up and dried out like a dead leaf. Every breath took forever.
This was really, really stupid. If I survived, I would never do it again. Well, at least not without a lot of practice first. Very careful practice, the kind that wouldn't hurt like this.
I really didn't want to die. Thinking about dying stabbed at me. Suddenly I was so unbearably sad I would've cried if I could have. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. There was so much still that I wanted to do and to see. I wanted years. Years to grow the inn, to meet strange guests, to experience the small, happy comforts. Years to fall in love and be happy. Years to search for and find my parents.
Mom... I'm so afraid. I am so, so scared. I wish you were here. I wish you were with me. You always made everything better.
Sean wasn't coming. He probably didn't even know where I was. I had to get myself up. I had to do something.
I tried to move my right arm. It just lay there. I strained. Not even a twitch of my fingers. I was trapped in my own body.
Nobody would find me. I was in the middle of a parking lot in the back seat of a car with tinted windows. It wasn't even noon and the car was already sweltering. The heat pressed on me like a thick, suffocating blanket. Even if I managed to hold on, I'd die of heat stroke before too much longer.
Get up. You're not going to roll over and just die here in the back of your own car. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
I concentrated on my hand. No response. I was getting weaker.
All I had to do was pick up my phone, dial 911, and speak. Such a small thing. I had never felt so helpless.
Not matter how much I kicked and screamed inside, my body refused to respond. Sweat beaded on my face.
The passenger door swung open. The hot air escaped in a sudden draft and I saw Sean's face. He leaned over me. His eyes widened. His face didn't change expression. It just turned a shade paler. I must've looked like hell.
"Can you speak?"
...
"Hospital?"
"Nnnn..."
"Inn?"
I tried to nod.
"Don't worry. I've got you."
He leaned in, his body over mine, so close I felt the heat of his skin, picked up the car keys off the floor, and disappeared. The door closed.
Don't go.
The driver door opened and Sean dropped into the seat. The motor started and then we were moving.
Ten minutes. That's how long it usually took me to drive to Costco. Fifteen, if I caught red on every streetlight.
I could hold on for fifteen minutes.
I clung to life. The car moved, the shadows of the trees we passed sliding over us in long stripes. A blast of cold air washed over me. He must've turned on the AC. It felt like heaven.
"Don't worry," Sean said. "Passing Redford. Almost there. It'll be okay."
My back went numb. It felt like I was floating...
I felt the precise moment he had crossed the boundary. The shock of magic pulsed through me like a current from a live wire. I gasped.
"Almost there," Sean told me. "Hold on."
My voice worked. "Thank you..."
The car stopped. The door swung open. Sean scooped me up, shifted me in his arms so I leaned against his shoulder, and ran to the inn. The front door opened and he ducked inside.
The inn shuddered. Every wall, every board in the floor, every rafter and beam creaked, popped, and groaned in unison. The sound was deafening. The walls stretched toward us. The entire building curved. Somewhere to the right, Beast yowled in her high-pitched, small-dog voice.
Sean squared his shoulders, trying to shield me.
"It's okay," I whispered. "It's just scared. Put me down."
Slowly, his gaze still on the ceiling, he lowered me to the floor. My back made contact with the wood. A warm, soothing feeling flooded me. Years ago when my family had gone to the Keys, I'd lain on a sandy bank during a high tide. The ocean water, so warm it might have been taken from a hot tub, had gently washed, at first under me, then over me, until the rising tide lifted me from the sand and I floated with the setting sun and the newborn moon above me in the sky. That's exactly what it felt like.
"Can I do anything?" Sean asked.
The floor bent. Thick, striated tendrils of polished wood wound about me, lifting me up. Sean took a step back.
"Bring me my broom. Please."
He turned around and grabbed the broom from its spot in the corner. The tendrils wound together, forming a cocoon, sliding and winding about each other, holding me up a foot off the ground. Sean turned, saw the cocoon, and took a step back.
"It's okay," I told him.
Slowly Sean held the broom out to me. A tendril swiped it and thrust it into the cocoon, next to me. The cocoon bent toward him, bringing my face to his face.
"Thank you," I whispered.
For a moment we stayed there with two inches between us, and then the tendrils pulled and carried me quickly across the floor, through the new gap in the wall, deep into the heart of the inn.
*** *** ***
I opened my eyes. Around me soothing darkness waited, soft and warm. Faint blue lights floated past me like a swarm of dim electric fireflies on the way to their nest.