guitar; she loved to sing. The fact that her fingers had already begun to hurt were a clear indication that it had been too long. She’d lost her calluses.
Tonight there were no visions. There was just music and laughter and applause. Even Duncan seemed to enjoy her performance. Doyle came out of the kitchen a time or two to wait tables and lean against the bar to listen to her. He liked her a little, she knew, but he wasn’t her type. He was a nice guy. She’d never really gone for nice guys.
That was going to have to change. If she could manage a normal life without visions, without being called a prophet ever again, she’d eventually need a nice guy. The normal package—marriage, commitment, the whole wonderfully humdrum deal—didn’t work with the kind of bad boy she was usually attracted to.
Her mind went to her current family. Gideon was in charge of getting her parents to Sanctuary, and she had no doubt about his abilities to do so. The phone call had been tense, to say the least. He’d asked too many questions she couldn’t answer.
He’d been pissed to find out where she was; at least he didn’t know why she was here.
Halfway through her set, Maisy—the librarian the landlady had been so sure would be a great friend—came in with her good friend Shay. They were both pretty girls. Maisy had very dark brown hair; Shay’s was thick and a rich auburn. Dressed in their best—tight sweaters and short skirts and boots—they drew a lot of attention as they walked in.
It took no special powers to realize that neither of these women would ever be a friend to Echo. She got a sharp glance from both girls, then they gave their full piranha-like attention to the bar and the two men there.
Shay had her sights set firmly on Duncan; Maisy smiled coyly at Doyle. The poor guys didn’t stand a chance...
Outside the pub, the wind howled with a sudden burst. A few heads turned toward the rattling door. Echo continued to play without a hitch; this was a song she knew well.
Shay leaned over the counter, all but thrusting her breasts at Duncan. Hers were not as impressive as Maisy’s, but she didn’t have a boyish figure, either. Echo couldn’t care less, but really, did the woman have no shame?
The wind picked up and the old building creaked. The wind howled so loudly it drowned out a couple of words of her song. Everyone looked up and back; the door rattled as if an invisible hand was shaking it, trying desperately to get in.
This was a weird town, and Echo had to wonder if someone in the pub, or outside it, was responsible for the sudden wind. Someone who had a gift for manipulating the weather. Someone who could bring the wind and the rain.
Duncan caught her eye, and a voice—his voice—whispered in her head.
That someone is you, love.
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