A Croucher excerpt

The brown-haired woman blew out the candle on the desk in front of her. She had been using it to help her concentrate and had given up in disgust. Swiping violently at the frizzy curls over her forehead she leveled the man across from her with her most somber look.

“I can’t focus, Simon. She’s a wreck. There is so much misery and loss surrounding her that I doubt she’ll even recognize him. She doesn’t even know who she is—how in God’s name is she supposed to know what to do?”

She swiped again at her hair as the gray-eyed man considered her question. They kept their voices low out of years of habit, though they were in her private study. Only two other senior members of the order even knew what they were discussing—secrecy was critical now more than ever.

“I know how you feel, old girl. I tell you, she’s leaving it very late this time, I must say. She’s never failed us before though, obviously, or we wouldn’t be having this chat, would we?” He absently reached to pet the fat orange tabby that wound itself around his legs.

“I know. I just hate this waiting—it’s driving me nuts. I’ve been preparing for this for so long, watching her since she was born, that now that the moment’s arrived I feel as though I’m going out of my skin.”

“What about the girl? Any luck?”

“None. My guides just keep telling me it isn’t ‘time’. I don’t mind telling you that my patience with the spirit world is wearing thin.” She looked out into the book-filled room and addressed the upper corners as she shook a bony fist at it, her silver rings jangling,

“Do you hear that? Do you? You’re pushing it!”

The gray eyes in the old man’s face crinkled at the corners. His mustache twitched. He looked out the window at the dry Texas landscape that so differed from his beloved London to gather his composure before facing her again.

“I do believe you could use of cup of tea, Izzy, my dear. You’ve been cooped up in this study all day—you’ll be as bad off as she if you don’t take a break.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked back at him. She understood what he meant and knew he was right, but she couldn’t help feeling as though there were more she should be doing.

“No, Simon. There’s no one as bad off as she is. Her heart hasn’t just been broken—it’s destroyed.”

He nodded as he stood and reached for her hand.

“I know. We just have to pray that she’s as resilient now as she always has been.”

“It isn’t as if there’s an alternative, is there?”

All hint of amusement faded from his face as he stared once more out the window, though whether his thoughts were in the past, present, or future it was impossible to guess. It was some time before he faced her again and spoke.

“There never has been.”