Wild Blue Yonder (The Ceruleans: Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

to it, this
one had clearly been put together by someone with an eye for design and a penchant
for the colours pink and green. The carpet was deep and luxurious and the
colour of spring grass; the walls were a soft coral and dotted with canvases
depicting meadow views. There was a bed, king-sized and high, with blush
bedding; a sofa, cerise and plump, with assorted scatter cushions in green; a
vintage-looking white wardrobe and matching chest of drawers and bedside units;
a bookcase filled with novels; a jade vanity dresser with ornate mirror; and,
at the far end of the room, a wide wooden desk with emerald swivel chair set
before tall French doors. Someone had been busy in an electronics store as
well: in my initial sweep of the room I took in a large wall-mounted flatscreen
television, a DVD player, a sound system, a mini fridge, a kettle and, on the
desk, a netbook – fuchsia-pink, of course.
    ‘Do you like it?’ asked Jude. He was standing behind me, in
the doorway still.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ I said, my first warm comment to him in
hours.
    ‘We want you to be comfortable here. If there’s anything
else you’d like…’
    I walked around the room, trailing my hand over furniture,
examining the artworks on the wall.
    ‘What’s that door?’ I asked, pointing to a wooden door in
the wall opposite the bed.
    ‘En suite.’
    ‘And that one?’ I pointed to a door directly opposite the
bathroom, next to the headboard of the bed.
    Jude cleared his throat, then said, ‘It’s a connecting door.
To my room.’ I was opening my mouth to give him my opinion on that when
he added, ‘It locks from your side – see.’ He showed me the lock. ‘So I can’t
come in unless you want me to.’
    ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Good.’
    We stood awkwardly for a moment, until Jude said, ‘Okay
then. I’ll leave you to…’
    ‘Good night.’
    There was another pause, during which Jude seemed to be
wrestling with himself over something. I walked to the door to the room and
placed my hand on the handle – pointedly.
    ‘Good night, then,’ he said. ‘Sleep well. And just knock if
you need me.’
    I closed the door on him, and turned the lock until it
clicked. Then I crossed to the connecting door and checked it. Locked.
    In seconds I was across at the desk, flipping open the
netbook and booting it up. While it chugged through its startup procedure, I
chewed my nail impatiently. Finally, I was in. I searched the desktop for a web
browser. Nothing. I checked the menus. Nothing. I did a system-wide search.
Nothing.
    Dammit.
    I searched the room, riffling through drawers and shelves,
even the bathroom cabinet. iPod. Kindle. Hair dryer. But no phone, no tablet,
nothing that would allow me to connect to the outside world.
    I sank down onto the sofa and hugged a cushion to me.
    An image popped into my mind: the garden of the cottage at
Twycombe. Lying on my back raging at Jude, because he meant to take me; had
taken Sienna, I thought. He’d been on top of me, restraining me, and then, in
no more than a second, he’d melted away into a blur that was gone before I
could even try to focus on it.
    I’d asked him, today, about the Travelling. Indirectly. What
was it he’d said? ‘The men do that.’ Did that mean only the men were physically
capable of it? The feminist in me growled unhappily. Surely not.
    I thought about my gift, to heal. I’d used it several times
before my death, and the knowledge of how to use it had been inherent, no
thought required. I placed my hands on someone who needed healing, I willed
them healed, and the energy rose up inside and radiated out from my hands.
    Now I tried to locate the source of that energy. It was in
my chest, as I remembered. A warmth. A light. I found it at once – it was so much
brighter, so much stronger.
    Closing my eyes, I willed myself to Travel: from this
bedroom in an old hotel on an island off the coast of England to home, to the
cottage on the cliff.
    I felt nothing, no rush of