Maggie was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and that was strange enough, but what was even stranger was the fact that she knew it wasn'tan ordinary dream.
This was something...that came from outside her, that was being ... sent. Some deep part ofher mind fumbled for the proper words, seethingwith frustration, even while the normal part of her was busy staring around her and being afraid.
Mist. Mist everywhere, white tendrils that snakedgracefully across her vision and coiled around herlike genii that had just been let out of lamps. She had the feeling that there were dark shapes out inthe mist; she seemed to see them looming out of the corner of her eye, but as soon as she turned they were obscured again.
Gooseflesh rose on Maggie's arms. It wasn't justthe touch of the mist. There was a noise that madethe hairs on the back of her neck tingle. It was justat the threshold of hearing, distorted by distanceor something else, and it seemed to be calling overand over again, "Who are you?"
Give me a break,Maggie thought. She shook herhead hard to get rid of the prickly feeling on herneck. This is just way too...too Gothic.Do Ialways have corny dreams like this?
But the next moment something happened thatsent a new chill washing over her, this time oneof simple, everyday alarm. Something was comingthrough the mist, fast.
She turned, stiffening. And then, strangely, everything seemed to change at once.
The mist began to recede. She saw a figure, darkagainst it, nothing more than a silhouette at first.For just an instant she thought of Miles-but thethought was gone almost as quickly as it came. Itwas a boy, but a stranger, she could tell by theshape of him and the way he moved. He wasbreathing hard and calling in a desperate voice,"Where are you? Where are you?"
So that was it. Not "Whoare you," Maggiethought.
"Where are you? Maggie! Where are you?"
The sound of her own name startled her. Buteven as she drew in a sharp breath, he turned andsaw her.
And stopped short. The mist was almost gonenow and she could see his face. His expression wasone of wonder and relief and joy.
"Maggie," he whispered.
Maggie stood rooted to the spot. She didn't knowhim. She was positive she had never seen him before. But he was staring at herasif... asif shewere the most important thing in the universe tohim, and he'd been searching for her for years untilhe'd almost given up hope. She was too astonished to moveashe suddenly erupted from stillness. In three long steps he was in front of her, his handsclosing on her shoulders.
Gently. Not possessively. Butasif he had theabsolute right to do this, andasif he needed toconvince himself she was real.
"It worked. I got through," he said.
He was the most striking person she'd ever seen.Dark hair, a little rough and tousled, with a tendency to wave. Smooth fair skin, elegant bones. A mouth that lookedasif it normally might be proud and willful, but right now was simply vulnerable.
And fearless, brilliant yellow eyes.
It was those eyes that held her, arresting andstartling in an already distinctive face. No, she hadnever seen him before. She would have remembered.
He was a whole head taller than she was, andlithe and nicely muscled. But Maggie didn't have a feeling of being overpowered. There was so muchtender anxiety in his face, and something nearpleading in those fierce, blacklashed golden eyes.
"Listen, I know you don't understand, and I'msorry. But it was so hard getting through-andthere isn't much time."