Dammit! Mabel swore silently as she stepped off the plane and realized that she was sharing her skull again. I thought maybe I’d lost it somewhere over the Pacific.
She spent a moment working through a sense of panic that wasn’t entirely hers. She’d hoped that once she got this far, it would stop pestering her and just let her make a vacation out of this forced march instead.
She looked around for a shuttle to take her to a local hotel, and started toward the advertised “Airporter,” but an involuntary locking of limbs brought her up short. Another of those mental nudges she’d tried so valiantly to ignore over the past couple of weeks finally pushed her out of the terminal toward the rental car counters, and she heaved a sigh. Apparently it wouldn’t allow her to stay here in Hobart, either. Insistent little miscreant, aren’t you?