A Patch of Darkness

by Yolanda Sfetsos

  “Until this morning, I didn’t even know witches existed, let alone a man who hunts them down. So, I have no idea what you mean. You’re not some sort of stalker trying to pass yourself off as a supernatural hunter, are you?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Because if you are, I’ll call the cops right now and get it over with. Trust me, I’ve had my share of crazed fans who want to tap into my talent. So if that’s your routine, it’s already been used on me a thousand times.”

  Oren’s laughter echoed through the silence around us. “My, you are feisty, aren’t you? For the record, I’m not a psycho fan or a sad old man trying to pass himself off as something he’s not.”

  I didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. If this man thought he could unnerve me with a little stare down, he was wrong. I’d had members of the male species eyeing my breasts since I was in high school. My flat chest disappeared overnight when I was sixteen. One day there was nothing, the next I was big enough to attract the attention of boys who’d previously looked the other way. Suddenly my name became a popular topic with boys commenting about wanting to “visit The Sierra Fox”. Using my first name as the Spanish meaning suggested, only the mountain range was on my chest.

  “Are you done with the stare down?”

  “You’re very beautiful, Sierra. You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”

  I took a step back and lifted my palms in front of me. “Okay, I don’t have time for this crap. If you called me to the cemetery in the hope we’d connect in that way, I’m outta here.”

  He wrapped his cold fingers around my arm. Thin and icy cold, they felt like blocks of ice pressed against my skin. Goose bumps raced along my arms until they reached my chest. My nipples contracted instantly and I wanted nothing more than to get the hell away from him. I didn’t want to give this disturbed old man the wrong impression. His hand was just so cold.

  I’d cancelled with Jonathan for this? Was I a fool or what? Someday, my pathetic sense of curiosity was going to get me killed.

  “Please don’t go, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Oren’s hand was still on my arm. “Get to the point then. What did you want to show me?” I yanked my arm away from his light grip.

  His face was serious, jaw rigid. Any tease drained out, his pale face etched with wrinkles the darkness of the building on Wallace Street had neglected to reflect. There were white whiskers growing along the skin of his cheeks and chin. His sharp features revealed a man who’d probably been handsome in his heyday. Right now all I could think about was having cancelled a night of passion so some old guy could play games.

  “I’m sorry. I want to show you something inside the cemetery. It’s quite serious,” he said.

  I sighed. “Okay, let’s go take a look.” Might as well, I’m already here.

  Oren didn’t move. “Before we do, I want to clear the air between us. I didn’t mean to lead you down an unintended path. You possess so many other wonderful qualities, not just physically.”

  “Should I thank you, or would you take it the wrong way?”

  “In time, Sierra, you will come to accept my witty remarks for what they really are. I’m just an old fool sometimes, with no ill intent behind my words or actions.”

  “Right, that’s what they all say.” I rolled my eyes. “Lead the way.”

  Oren took a second too long to look away, and seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but instead took the lead until we were strolling down the concrete path.

  “I thought the cemetery closed at six every night,” I said to break the eerie silence. We seemed to be the only people still left inside.

  “In summer the gates stay open later because of the longer daylight hours. I thought someone in your profession would be well acquainted with the cemetery.”

  “Ah, daylight savings. And you’d be surprised—I hardly need to come here. I’m not a necromancer,” I answered. I actually tried to stay as far away from cemeteries as I could. The possibility of spotting spooks is pretty high. It can be very annoying, being stopped every second step by a wandering spirit with nothing better to do.

  Not to mention, after my stint as a ghost hunter—which I think should be changed to tourist guide for the moronic—cemeteries bug the hell out of me. I’ve got too many pathetic memories of people with flashlights oohing and aahing all over the place, snapping pictures of nothing.

  “Of course you’re not a necromancer.” He smirked.

  “Where are we going?” I figured I was at least entitled to some answers, especially since I was following him so deep into the cemetery I no longer knew where we were.

  The air trapped inside these gates was still. The noise of the traffic only a few kilometers away was muffled, making it perfectly serene. It was so quiet I could hear my own breathing, a little unnerving when the rest of the population no longer had any breath.

  I kept my gaze close to the ground. I was already feeling the skin at the back of my neck prickling. Several ghosts had spotted me and I didn’t want to acknowledge any of them. Since I’ve been doing the spook catcher thing on a full-time basis, I try to stay away from interacting with spirits who just happen to want to catch my attention.

  Oren stopped in front of a tall, marble headstone. It looked a little discolored, worn around the edges. The chiseled writing was wearing away and I couldn’t read the letters because the sun was shining off it.

  “We all know the rip Burr was talking about has to be somewhere, right?” Oren asked.

  “Yeah, but not necessarily accessible through human structures.” I crossed my arms over my stomach, feeling vulnerable in the open. Any one of the many ghosts circling about could approach me at any second and Oren wouldn’t even notice.

  “I believe that’s what the culprit would like us to believe,” he said catching my eye. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” I lied. “Are you saying you found the split?” If he’d found something relevant, I was willing to spend as much time with him as necessary.

  The pain of my argument with Jonathan subsided a little. I had to concentrate. There was no room for distractions right now—whether ghostly or relationship. This old man was either wasting my time or had found an important piece of this puzzle.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but this is definitely something.” Oren knelt beside the base of the next headstone.

  “What is it?” I asked, crouching beside him. At least crouched down, I was no longer a target to the lingering spirits. Not with all the headstones around us.

  “There’s a flow of energy right here.” He moved his right hand over a cracked section between the dry grass and the marble base.

  I couldn’t feel anything, so I shrugged.

  Oren took my hand. The cold of his skin caused a wince and an involuntary shiver as he waved my hand along nothing. The tips of my fingers twitched, the hairs on my arms stood on end as I suddenly felt the warm spurt of air on my palm. It felt like a leak in a gas line, slow and hissing. I strained my ears to hear the small sound.

  Yep, there it was.

  “What is that?” I whispered. I’d never felt anything but cold air inside a cemetery. My heart sped up when I thought of the Prevette kitchen and the heat inside there. Was this something demonic? Then again, this air felt warm and soothing, not hot enough to scald.

  Oren’s thin hand shifted over the top of mine until our fingers were interlaced—warmth and coolness blending together. His face was too close.

  I turned to find him staring at me. I could see myself reflected in his eyes, a blue version of me staring intently at the strange man. I returned my gaze to his fingers laced around mine. As if sensing the pressure from my stare, Oren unlaced them. He pressed down on the top of my hand until it was touching the ground, pushing so I could feel the stirring below my palm.

  “This is a ley line, Sierra.”

  “A ley line—isn’t that some sort of preternatural energy source?”

  “Sort of. Ley lines connect all over the wo
rld. Some are stronger than others, usually found beneath sacred grounds such as a church or a cemetery,” he answered, pushing my hand further into the brittle grass. “They are filled with the Earth’s psychic energy.”

  “What’re you saying? That someone or something is tapping into these ley lines, and using their energy to break through the fibers of creation?” I asked, no matter how far-fetched it sounded.

  He nodded.

  “But for what purpose?”

  “It could be anything.”

  “Have you ever seen such a leak?”

  Oren lifted my hand off the ground. The hum of the vibrations below still moved along my palm, shuddering into his hand. “Only one other time…”

  “Is there any way to seal it?”

  My heart sped up a little when Oren lifted his hand, taking mine with it. He turned it over and his face lowered towards it. I couldn’t move. My breath caught in my throat. This was turning into a very intimate moment, what with all the energy bubbling beneath us and his seeming sensual gestures.

  My stomach tightened as his lips pressed down against my open palm. Cool lips hardly registered on the taut skin of my palm but a little fire raced up to my cheeks. Oren returned his lips for a second time. This time keeping them pressed against my skin for several seconds.

  I finally drew a breath. “What are you doing?”

  He dropped his grip, allowing my hand to fall away.

  “Oren, are you all right?” I asked.

  He was frozen in place as he nodded.

  When he lifted his head to look at me, I was at a loss for words. The cool blue of his irises was replaced with a soft, light pink.

  “Sierra,” he whispered with the voice of another man. The Irish accent was completely gone.

  I tried to stand but tumbled back, forced to hold on to the heavy headstone to keep from falling on my ass.

  “Sierra.”

  I coughed a few times before finding my voice. “What the hell are you?” And what do you really want from me?

  Chapter Nine

  Oren closed his eyes, still facing me. “Please don’t be afraid, Sierra.”

  That was easier said than done. My grip on the sides of the headstone was so hard my knuckles were turning white. I took a deep breath before using the stone to help me get to my feet. I needed a little distance from Oren and whatever he was doing, or had done to me. I didn’t feel any different, just stunned at the way his eyes looked.

  “What the hell are you?” I repeated. My throat was so dry it felt like I hadn’t consumed a single drop of liquid in hours.

  “I’m a witch hunter.”

  “What the hell was all that crap about? What did you do to me?” I stared at my palms. They appeared to be the same, but they felt different. I rubbed them against my jeans.

  Oren opened his eyes, still on his knees. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

  “But your eyes, they’re…” I couldn’t say any more once those pink eyes met mine. They were pale, albino looking, very frightening, to be quite honest. At least with ghosts I knew what to expect, but these hunters were a new playing field.

  I didn’t know the rules yet.

  “There’s no need to be afraid. I would never hurt you.” His voice was back to normal.

  “I don’t know that for sure, and I’m sure as hell not going to take your word for it after such a creepy display,” I blurted, taking another step back. “Now, if you don’t tell me what the hell you really are, I’m not only going to walk away from you, but I’ll turn my back on the little group Burr rounded up.”

  His face shot up, eyes squinted in disbelief. “You can’t, we need you.”

  “I can do whatever the hell I want, Oren. I don’t owe you or anyone else anything. If there’s something going on in the ghostly patch, I’m sure I can figure it out for myself.” Eventually.

  He closed his eyes again. When his eyelids lifted the irises were back to a cool light blue. “I didn’t mean to spook you, but you need to stay with the group, otherwise the fibers will eventually crumble, leading this world into chaos.”

  I chuckled. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know it would happen for certain, but I do know that without your power we won’t succeed.”

  “And what power is that exactly? I can see spirits, that’s all.”

  “You have an amazing amount of power flowing through your body, much more than you know about. I’ve never felt such immense energy flow through the veins of one person.” He paused, peering into my eyes. “Actually, that’s a lie. I have seen this kind of power before, only one other time. Her name was Pepita Garcia.”

  My heart skipped a beat before setting my pulse racing as realization swept over the top of my head until it engulfed my entire body. Pepita Garcia. But that couldn’t be. He was lying! How could he have known her? Was this why he’d apparently known about me? Was it possible the interest and heat burning deep inside his eyes was related to his attraction of my inherited power?

  “You’re lying.” I refused to believe what he was insinuating.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “How did you know her?” I asked. “How could you possibly have known my grandmother?”

  Oren’s eyes clouded over, shadows playing in front of them. “Long before your grandmother became an old woman, she was the most powerful spook catcher in the world. She was an amazing woman who could trap a ghost with only a thought. I’m not sure how you perform your job, but I watched Pepita do it with my own eyes many times. I’d never seen such power.

  “She eventually abandoned the job because it ruled her life and she wanted so much more. She wanted to settle down and have children. Pepita craved a normal life.”

  I watched this stranger speak about my grandmother in a way I’d never heard before. Not even Grandpa spoke about her this way. His memories were usually retold through the eyes of a husband. This man was talking about her as if there’d been a whole different world attached to her that I’d never known about.

  Grandma came to me several times during my childhood and teenage years. Always there to comfort me when the talent became too much and no one else understood, but she’d been absent during my adult life. Even when I was a child, she’d never shared the history of her talent with me. As far as life before she became Pepita Mondelvar was concerned, I knew nothing. It hurt to hear this stranger talk about her as if he knew her better than I did. All those times I spoke to her, never once did I think to ask any questions about her life and how she dealt with this burden.

  The same burden that always managed to take over my life. It made sense that she’d chosen to start a family over the talent, but never really lost the ability. She just stopped acting on it. Until now, I hadn’t thought it possible. I’d always known Grandma held the gift of seeing ghosts, but didn’t think she’d used it the same way I did.

  “Are you all right, Sierra?”

  I focused on Oren, who’d closed the distance between us. I blinked a few times to force away the tears. I missed Grandma, and wished I knew why she’d stopped coming to see me. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just never met anyone who knew my grandmother before she became Grandma. Sometimes we tend to forget parents and grandparents actually had lives of their own once.”

  He smiled and looked like a gentle old man again with no more creepy, mysterious surprises up his sleeve. “Yes, it happens a lot, but you did know you inherited your gift from her?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s why I know so much about you. I’ve been checking up on you since the day your grandmother died. It was her last request of me.” Oren paused, seemed to be searching for a reaction. “On her deathbed, she asked me to watch over you, though she didn’t want me to show myself. I suppose I did a good job since you never noticed I existed until we were forced to meet under these bizarre circumstances.”

  I couldn’t believe Grandma would enlist someone to keep watch over me after her death, especially a complete strang
er. Grandpa did a great job. “Why would she ask you to watch me?”

  Oren sighed. “She was worried your parents would eventually tuck you away in some institution because they didn’t understand you.”

  “My grandfather made sure they didn’t do that.”

  “I know. Still, she knew Joseph would get older himself and would be unable to protect you,” Oren answered flicking his long ponytail over his shoulder.

  “I still don’t understand the connection,” I whispered, more to myself than him.

  “Pepita knew the power you hold is outstanding. It’s no wonder the Council has tried to rehire you on so many occasions and is now hell-bent on ruining you.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Which question was that?”

  He was trying to be vague, but I wasn’t about to let him get away with hiding something so important. “Why would Grandma ask you to look out for me? What was your connection to her?”

  Oren looked away. He sighed heavily, as if he regretted being trapped in this conversation. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who liked to share too many details, and I was putting him on the spot. But I didn’t care. If he’d been watching me so carefully all these years, Oren McKee owed me some answers.

  “The hunters and catchers weren’t always so isolated from each other. There was a time when we were all a secret and would meet on a monthly basis, letting each other know of anything that may affect the other.” He took a step away from me. “If such a system were still in place now, instead of having been forgotten all those years ago, maybe this wouldn’t be happening now.” Oren pointed down to the ground. “Your grandmother and I became friends. We would see each other at these meetings, and sometimes outside of them.”

  I wondered about my grandfather—did he know about all this?

  He caught my confused look. “You’ve got to remember all of this happened when your grandmother was very young and hadn’t met your grandfather yet. Pepita and I were very close and never lost contact. And since I was involved in the world of the supernatural, she thought it a good idea to ask me to look out for you.”