Grave Phantoms Read Online Free PDF Page B

safe.
    â€œBut what’s your name, dear?”
    â€œAstrid Cristiana Magnusson,” she enunciated carefully.
    Behind the nurse, Bo let out a small sound of relief.
    â€œI’m all right,” she told both of them. “A little dizzy, but it’s passing.”
    After the nurse bandaged her arm and ran through a list of symptoms that Astrid didn’t have, she left with a blood sample and a promise to return shortly. “A lot going on tonight with those boat survivors and the police,” she said. “I’ll try to get a doctor in here as soon as I can.”
    Bo’s anxious face peered down from the side of the bed. “You scared the life out of me.” He blew out a long breath and ran a hand over his hair. A moment later, it was hard to tell if he was genuinely concerned . . . or merely irritated at her for inconveniencing him.
    He picked up a pitcher from her bedside table and poured water into a glass.
    Astrid looked around and realized they were in a room with three other beds—one of which was occupied by a man in a full body cast, who seemed to be sleeping. Distant commotion and chatter echoed down the spotless white hallway outside the propped-open door. The occasional nurse scurried back and forth.
    â€œAre we at Saint Francis?” she asked. “Are the boat survivors here?”
    â€œDown the hall. Drink,” he encouraged, holding out the glass as she sat up in bed.
    She took it from him and gulped down the lukewarm water, requesting another glass when she’d emptied it. “Remind me never to get sloshed again.”
    â€œI don’t think this was from the champagne. I toldthe nurse you fell and went unconscious after the yacht crashed into the pier. I didn’t tell her why, exactly.” He paused and looked at her seriously. “Do you remember what happened?”
    â€œI touched the blue idol and fell out of myself.”
    â€œYou . . . what? Hold on.” Metal zinged as Bo pulled the privacy curtain, separating her from the man in the body cast. “Tell me everything.”
    Now she had his full attention. Finally. She patted the bed next to her and scooted over to give him room. He hesitated a moment before sitting down. Like it pained him. It was clear he was trying to keep some space between them. She shifted her leg to erase that space, mentally tallying a point in her favor, and began explaining the sensation she’d felt when she’d touched the object.
    â€œIt was an electric pain,” she said. “A shock. I felt hot.”
    Then she recounted her strange vision . . .
    She’d been on the yacht. In the salon.
    It was dim, the room lit by candlelight. Night loomed beyond the band of windows. Nothing was wrecked—no cracked mirror behind the bar, no glass on the rug, or strewn furniture—but the blue symbols were still painted on the walls . . . and on the floor. Standing inside the ritual circle were six people dressed in white robes.
    The survivors.
    And facing them around the outside of the circle were six additional people. Each of them stood naked in a puddle of rough, brown fabric, wearing nothing put pairs of strange-looking boots.
    Bright blue stones glowed in their hands. Miniature idols, like the one Astrid had picked up. Six people, six idols. One by one, each of the expressionless nude participants handed the turquoise statues to the survivors before picking up the brown fabric that pooled around their strange boots. Brown burlap sacks, big enough for a man to stand inside. They pulled the sacks over their heads like cocoons and cinched them closed from the inside.
    Lightning flashed in the windows. The survivors stepped outside the circle and embraced the sack-tied people. And as they did, Astrid saw a single person left standing in the middle of the circle. A woman in a deep red robe. Some kind of priestess. She was elderly—her hands were horribly