her mother. No darkly draped rooms, incense, candles, pyramids, or crystals. Though hunkered low against the threat of hurricanes, the one-story concrete building drew light through expansive windows that pulled in waves of ocean light. Its marble floors were polished, its glazed stucco walls shining, its air almost astringent. There seemed to be a wellness about the place that Tally found contradictory to what transpired there.
“The University of the Spirit,” Tally repeated the name to herself. “Like it takes a degree to know your own soul.” But did Tally know hers?
She ran along the outside of the wall, sandwiched between solid concrete and a dense swath of slash pines. She glanced over the wall to see the school’s asymmetrical roof that ran at odd angles. Another time and it might have engaged her eye for architectural lines, but not now. Her sights were set on the airstrip straight ahead. As she ran, she felt for the bulge in a pocket of her cargo pants. She’d sold one of her mountain bikes to afford the night-vision binoculars now tucked inside the pocket. The special optics were light and compact, but powerful enough to spy through camp-bungalow windows if she couldn’t get close enough. They’d been particularly handy for monitoring her mother’s bizarre séances in the far trees of the camp green.
Pulling the binoculars from her pocket, she looped their wide strap around her neck and clutched them tightly as she ran. She wanted to be ready as soon as the plane landed.
When she made the ninety-degree turn at the far end of the wall, she saw the runway lights across a stretch of sand and low brush. As though she’d been trained in military reconnaissance, she ran upright as far as she dared, then dropped to her belly and crawled to a mound of young palmettos not too far from the airstrip but outside the arc of the runway lights. As the plane circled overhead, she tucked herself entirely within the bushes to avoid a chance beam of light that might catch her. As the plane steadied its landing course, she parted the leafy fronds just enough to see out. When she trained her binoculars on the landing strip, her mouth fell open at the sight.
She’d been there once before to watch a plane land. Only Curt Vandoren, whose form she’d recognize anywhere, and one of his aides had met its passengers, three men she couldn’t identify who were shuttled the short distance to the university campus in a stretch van.
That wasn’t the scene before her now. Besides the passenger van and Vandoren’s refrigerator-size presence, illuminated by the nearby lights and Tally’s night-vision technology, there were two panel trucks and a small squad of armed men gathered near a tractor-trailer rig Tally had never seen anywhere near the camp or university. At that moment, she was especially grateful for the cover of dark and the palmettos, dense enough to hide a person from those who’d surely apprehend an unwanted observer. She was certain of that, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d had no history with Curt Vandoren, except on one visit with her mother. He’d only spoken briefly to her when introduced, but curiously enough, had reached out to finger her hair in a way that made her recoil. He’d only laughed at her startled reaction and moved on.
Now, she focused on his ponderous form, dressed in a loose tunic over billowy pants. His silver hair shone brightly in the light, but his face hung darkly, its mouth grim, eyes lifted toward the plane just now clearing the treetops. The aircraft was bulkier than a passenger plane. It looked like a miniature version of the great cargo planes she’d watched take off from Homestead Air Reserve Base farther up the mainland.
What could they be hauling into this freaky little place?
The plane landed smoothly and rolled slowly toward the welcoming party. Even before its wheels came to a complete rest, the armed men rushed forward to stand guard. When they raised their automatic
“The University of the Spirit,” Tally repeated the name to herself. “Like it takes a degree to know your own soul.” But did Tally know hers?
She ran along the outside of the wall, sandwiched between solid concrete and a dense swath of slash pines. She glanced over the wall to see the school’s asymmetrical roof that ran at odd angles. Another time and it might have engaged her eye for architectural lines, but not now. Her sights were set on the airstrip straight ahead. As she ran, she felt for the bulge in a pocket of her cargo pants. She’d sold one of her mountain bikes to afford the night-vision binoculars now tucked inside the pocket. The special optics were light and compact, but powerful enough to spy through camp-bungalow windows if she couldn’t get close enough. They’d been particularly handy for monitoring her mother’s bizarre séances in the far trees of the camp green.
Pulling the binoculars from her pocket, she looped their wide strap around her neck and clutched them tightly as she ran. She wanted to be ready as soon as the plane landed.
When she made the ninety-degree turn at the far end of the wall, she saw the runway lights across a stretch of sand and low brush. As though she’d been trained in military reconnaissance, she ran upright as far as she dared, then dropped to her belly and crawled to a mound of young palmettos not too far from the airstrip but outside the arc of the runway lights. As the plane circled overhead, she tucked herself entirely within the bushes to avoid a chance beam of light that might catch her. As the plane steadied its landing course, she parted the leafy fronds just enough to see out. When she trained her binoculars on the landing strip, her mouth fell open at the sight.
She’d been there once before to watch a plane land. Only Curt Vandoren, whose form she’d recognize anywhere, and one of his aides had met its passengers, three men she couldn’t identify who were shuttled the short distance to the university campus in a stretch van.
That wasn’t the scene before her now. Besides the passenger van and Vandoren’s refrigerator-size presence, illuminated by the nearby lights and Tally’s night-vision technology, there were two panel trucks and a small squad of armed men gathered near a tractor-trailer rig Tally had never seen anywhere near the camp or university. At that moment, she was especially grateful for the cover of dark and the palmettos, dense enough to hide a person from those who’d surely apprehend an unwanted observer. She was certain of that, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d had no history with Curt Vandoren, except on one visit with her mother. He’d only spoken briefly to her when introduced, but curiously enough, had reached out to finger her hair in a way that made her recoil. He’d only laughed at her startled reaction and moved on.
Now, she focused on his ponderous form, dressed in a loose tunic over billowy pants. His silver hair shone brightly in the light, but his face hung darkly, its mouth grim, eyes lifted toward the plane just now clearing the treetops. The aircraft was bulkier than a passenger plane. It looked like a miniature version of the great cargo planes she’d watched take off from Homestead Air Reserve Base farther up the mainland.
What could they be hauling into this freaky little place?
The plane landed smoothly and rolled slowly toward the welcoming party. Even before its wheels came to a complete rest, the armed men rushed forward to stand guard. When they raised their automatic
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