Maya: What can we do?
Nuwell turned to Maya, and his face was bitter and sullen. His brown eyes were flat with anger.
"You treacherous witch, I should have known better than to trust you after that trick of trying to help Kensington escape. I wanted to give you a chance, because I thought that, with him dead, you might have recovered from your madness," he said.
A change came over his face: a mixture of fear, disbelief and utter lack of comprehension.
"He was dead," said Nuwell, a hysterical note underlying his tone. "I saw him. You saw him dead, too, didn't you, Maya? How could he be back there with you?"
Maya's only answer was a defiant smile.
"There's some explanation for this," said Nuwell, more positively. "I don't know what it is, but I'll find it. That man back there isn't Dark Kensington, because Kensington's dead. Maya, I promise you, I'm going to find out what the answer is, but first I'm going to make sure that you don't cause me any more trouble."
Dark touched Maya's mind.
Maya, I'm going to try something here.
He moved back. He was outside the copter, near it, keeping pace with it as it flew. It was tilted slightly forward, falling forward through the sky at the pull of its blades.