Excerpt: Light Bringer by Pat Bertram

The light flooding her bedroom wakened her.

Morning? Already?

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Becka went to the window and pushed aside the thin white curtain.

The full moon hung low in the sky, dimming the stars.

No wonder she felt tired—it was still night. She was about to climb back into bed when she remembered what Luke had said about the setting moon illuminating the outlines of the houses where the white tribe had lived. Afraid of missing the phenomenon, she didn’t even take time to snatch a robe to throw over the long T-shirt she wore, but dashed to the front door, yanked it open, and stepped out onto the porch.

She gaped at the town. By outlines, she’d thought Luke meant a faint tracing on the ground where the foundations had been, but this . . . this was a complete village, each exquisite stone house solidly visible. Though the stones weren’t uniform, they fit together snugly, like a miniature version of the megalithic ruins she’d seen in pictures of Cuzco. The roofs seemed to be made of rough wooden shingles, and the windows were covered with what appeared to be mats woven of dried grasses.

Seeing the door of the nearest house open a crack, she froze.

The door opened wider, and a sleek, hairless white cat with outsize ears and large slanted eyes sneaked outside. It looked around as though proud of its accomplishment, then sat back on its haunches and washed its face.

A ghost cat?

Becka felt a giggle percolate to her throat. She tried to swallow her amusement, but a tiny gurgle escaped.

The cat swiveled its head in her direction and focused its luminescent eyes on her.

She gazed at the hairless creature, unable to look away. What is it they say about staring too long into the abyss? Make sure it isn’t staring back at you?

She shivered, but still couldn’t avert her eyes.

Suddenly, with one liquid motion, the cat sprang to its feet and streaked toward her.

She stumbled into the cabin and slammed the door. She leaned against it for a moment, then tiptoed to the living room window and peeked outside.

The town had vanished. In its place was what she had expected to see all along: the light of the moon reflecting off the bare ground, exposing faint lines—like an architectural diagram—where the houses had once stood. As she watched, the diagram faded, and she knew, even though she couldn’t see it from this window, that the last sliver of moon had set.

She continued to look out at the gray, pre-dawn world, thinking about what she had seen when she’d stepped onto the porch. Had it been an optical illusion? A waking dream?

A breath of cold air climbed up her back, giving her the skin-crawling feeling that a shadowy being crouched in the dim recesses of the room . . .

Watching . . .

Waiting . . .

She turned around slowly, and clutched at her chest.

The ghost cat was inside the house.

And so was something else.