Sacrifice In Stone Read Online Free

it completely. Mara had learned some tricks to control it. Breathing
deeply, she pictured strolling along a beach with the vast ocean stretched out
before her. Soon the mounting panic ebbed. She could make it. Good thing. For
someone trying to hide, it might not be so cool to burst out of the closet,
screaming.
    She should concentrate on Garrick. Not
long now and she would find out if all of it was true or whether it was just
some kind of illusion, a fantasy. No, it couldn’t be. Lucy had seen him move.
Yes, but Mara had heard of shared hysteria. Maybe Lucy was sharing her delusion.
    Was it a delusion that at seventeen she
seen the statue’s eye blinking at her? Brown. The color of melting chocolate.
Later that night she’d dreamed of kissing a handsome man clad in the uniform of
an eighteenth century British soldier. With mahogany-colored hair caught at his
nape with a tie, he had strong features…and a chocolate gaze. His arms banded
around her and his lips had touched hers so gently.
    “Only you,” he’d said as his breath
whispered across her face. Mara awoke still feeling his hands on her body and
tasting his mouth.
    Over the years there had been more dreams
of the soldier with the chocolate eyes. No boy—or man—could compete
with her dream man. She’d even slept with one candidate with horrible results.
The whole thing felt wrong. Like a betrayal.
    What would Lucy have thought of the
dreams if Mara had had the guts to tell her? Psychosis fueled by raging teenage
hormones, hatred of her uncle and a martyr complex all rolled into one
not-so-tidy ball? Yeah. If Lucy had said as much, a part of Mara would have had
a hard time disagreeing with her.
    Once she had the museum completely to
herself, she’d use the blood she had stored in the dry ice container in her
backpack. It would work. It had to work.

 
    * * * * *

 
    It didn’t work. The blood coated the
statue’s chest and arms. Stone chest and arms. The blood had made no effect. No
change. No movement.
    Thinking that perhaps the cold
temperature was the problem. Mara used the microwave in the staff kitchen to
heat the bag of blood. She dipped her fingers into the warm stickiness and
painted some of the substance onto the statue’s hand. She waited. Nothing.
Nothing but a big mess of goo congealing on the statue and on the floor.
    Now what? Clearly, the bagged blood
wasn’t going to do the job.
    The only option left was to cut herself.
If that didn’t work? It would be a long night in the museum.
    After arranging her first-aid kit
supplies on a nearby bench, Mara extracted her Swiss army knife from the front
pocket of her backpack. Swiping an alcohol swab over the blade, she prepared to
cut her wrist.
    The blade scrapped along the ivory skin.
The hesitation cut measured about a half inch long and stung as if a flame had
touched her flesh. A few drops of blood welled and she pressed the wound to the
side of Sacrifice . Almost
immediately, a nickel-sized spot became flesh.
    She would have to make a bigger cut.
    Taking one, two, three deep breaths, Mara
inhaled one more time and held as she slashed. She didn’t want to hit an
artery, but had to get a good flow. The resulting gash was ragged and gushing.
Hurriedly pressing it again to the stone, Mara noted the lack of pain. She
would probably feel it later.
    The room seemed to move around her, so
Mara leaned against the statue to stop herself from toppling over. Losing
consciousness wouldn’t be good. She had to be awake to stop herself from
bleeding out. Blinking, deliberately trying to clear her vision, she felt as if
a black fabric covered her eyes. Were her eyes open?
    Mara, stop it, she shouted at herself,
forcing her lids upward.
    Stay awake. Stay. Awake. Awake. Stay…

 
    * * * * *

 
    Mara opened her eyes to see a face above
her. This beloved face, framed with mahogany shoulder-length hair, was from her
dreams. She recognized its straight nose, full lips and eyes of the sweetest