Secret Sky by JP McLean

Author:JP McLean
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: flying humans paranormal flight magic and mystery, British Columbia set in Vancouver west coast, beach reading escape read vacation read, ghost fiction ghost thriller books with ghosts, strong female lead paranormal superpowers, urban fantasy series supernatural mystery, supernatural series supernatural thriller
Publisher: WindStorm Press
Published: 2018-11-13T00:00:00+00:00

TO SAY THAT I WAS A tad directionally challenged was an understatement. Maps and I didn’t get along well, so I left in plenty of time to find the marina and meet Jackson at ten. It was a bright, beautiful day that called for sunglasses. I laid the map optimistically on the passenger seat with a sticky note of scribbled directions on top.

Unfortunately, my directional sense was in fine form this morning. What started off as guarded optimism gradually eroded into full-out aggravation as I slowly got myself twisted around and indeed, lost. In exasperation, I stopped and asked a mail carrier.

Finally, I saw the sign for the marina. I was late, but at least the Symphony was easy to find. Her size made her stand out. Jackson met me on the dock with a kiss. He didn’t seem to notice I was late. Relived, I didn’t cop to my map affliction.

“Let’s go for a walk along the dyke,” he said, taking my hand. “I could use the exercise after being on board for so long.” We started back toward the parking lot.

“Have you learned anything about Jolene?” I asked.

“Nothing yet,” he said. “And nothing else on Sandra either,” he added, pre-empting further questions.

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, aware of how distraught the topic left him. “I hope something turns up soon.” We got to the top of the ramp and crossed the parking lot to my car.

He circled the MGB with open admiration. “You like?” I asked.

“It’s a classic,” he said. “What’s not to like?”

He fed me directions to the dyke. I parked, and then we strolled toward the path that ran along the top. The gravel trail reached into the distance in either direction. We headed left. It was a popular spot, and we passed bikes, joggers and dogs taking their owners for walks.

We stopped for a leisurely lunch along the water’s edge and afterwards, poked in and out of shops.

Racing goggles in a bicycle rental shop’s window caught my eye. “Let’s go in,” I suggested. The goggles were designed to mould to the contours of the face. They’d go a long way to keep the wind, and more importantly, my hair from getting into my eyes when I flew. I tried on a pair of Ryders with clear lenses.

“Great idea,” Jackson said, smiling at me over a rack of clothing he’d been shuffling through. Not for the first time today, I smiled back then shook my head.

Jackson came around the rack and took my hand looking at me quizzically. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Not funny, at least not hee-haw funny,” I said. “It’s just so incredibly, oddly, normal. Here you and I are, having a perfectly normal day: walking along the dyke, shopping, eating lunch—just like everyone else.” I looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Only there’s nothing normal about us. That’s what I’m finding so amusing.”

“I forget how new you are to this life,” he said, pulling me close.

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