INCARNATE | Book 3 of the Spirits' War Trilogy [excerpt]

4: MADRE DE DIOS

Flint

A gentle rainfall reaches my ears, pulling me from the dream world. I blink twice, adjusting my eyes. I reach out with my mind to ensure we're safe. It's become a habit ever since that loathsome Patercius reentered our lives.

"Ness?"

The mattress is empty. I shake my head, smiling as I locate her spirit amongst a throng of others. A slight echo of pan flutes carries on the breeze. The wind ruffles the canopy over our stone hut, and sunlight is beginning to filter through the brightly-coloured tarp. It casts shadows of reds and blues, akin to stained glass.

I pull on my trousers and tunic, shaking my head with distaste at the awkwardness of my archaic thoughts. The humans had given me funny glances in the airport when they'd politely asked us where we were headed. I'd replied in kind, telling them we were off to visit some old acquaintances in the mountains.

How strange that must've sounded. A teenager and a thirty-something young woman, holding hands and travelling alone to a foreign country, does raise a few questions. I'd quickly headed to the washroom and locked myself in a stall, focusing on the passport the Lìog Airgid had given me. It belonged to one of the Lycans and I had completely forgotten to alter my appearance to match the twenty-nine-year-old in the photograph so Nessie and I could fly without issue.

As soon as we'd touched down in Peru and were away from prying eyes, I Shifted back to my familiar sixteen-year-old features. Nessie decided to transform as well. Her lively brunette locks had darkened to ebony and her cheekbones became more rounded. Her tall figure shrunk nearly two hands, giving the spirit the appearance of a beautiful young Incan girl, approximately my age.

"This is how me first incarnation appeared," she'd informed me proudly. "I shall be using this form quite often, I do think." I'd grinned, pulling her close and telling her, "You are beautiful in any shape or form."

I pull back the woven material and blink at the sun in my eyes. A sudden spiritual energy surprises me and I pause, wary of its approach.

Ha. Just a llama.

Nessie had told me that llamas roam free in the mountains, even throughout the tourist-infested ruins of Machu Picchu.

The llama stops and stares at me with heavy-lidded eyes and then lowers its head, nibbling grass with its elongated lips.

I project a calming feeling into the llama's mind, adding, <Hello there. I'm Greg. I think I'll call you...Leopold.>

The llama raises his head again, blowing air through his nostrils as if mocking my naming choice. A wad of grass hangs lopsided from his churning jaws and then plops unceremoniously onto the ground.

Drops of water patter upon my skin, but the feeling is welcome. The warm climate is different from what I'm used to, and the clouds are a welcome sight. Being Welsh again in this life, my exceptionally pale skin leads to bigtime sunburns.