Taralyn
pushed from her hiding place.
Frustration overrode her fear. She
listened for the fleeing footsteps,
but they were gone. Her headache
swelled. Shadows fell askew. Bent and
staggering, Taralyn cried silently, Gloriana,
where are you?
Running.
Free. Finally free.
“Gloriana?”
Taralyn straightened, wincing against
pain, her mind reaching. Reaching.
Light
exploded in her head. Groaning, she
dug her fists into her temples. She
stiffened, her body wracked by a
bone-jarring snap. Her knees struck
the floor.
Her
vision shifted. Suddenly, she was
elsewhere. Running. Up corridors. Down
corridors. Perspiration glistened on
her brow, and the cold air chilled her
skin. Her blouse came open, flapping
behind her like wings. Like a
butterfly. Flying. Finally free.
“Gloriana,”
whispered Taralyn. She felt the
girl’s presence like a tether.
Struggling, she clambered to her feet.
She was weak, exhausted, but the
headache was gone.
And
so was the Mask. She had her psychic
abilities once more.
