Warrior Prince

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Dishonest psychics could easily prey on people. How could you tell which ones were valid? Then again, that’s why she’d come to this place. Supposedly, Cassadaga mediums were certified. She assumed that meant they’d passed some vetting process to get approved.

  Deciding to park in the hotel lot, she drove across the street and onto the gravel surface.

  She gave the hotel a cursory exam upon emerging from her car. A two-story building with a cream facade and red awnings, the lodge dated from the 1920's. A covered porch invited exploration, but it could wait. The bookstore beckoned her.

  As she stood by the curb, a warm breeze stirred the hairs on her arms. Humidity hung heavy in the air, as though an afternoon thunderstorm brewed. The Subaru rumbled past, kicking up dust. It turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Tension eased from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she’d been anxious about being followed.

  Wearing a frown of concentration, she headed for the bookstore, a squat structure needing a fresh coat of yellow paint. Once inside, she hesitated, allowing a spicy scent to enter her nostrils. Bookshelves lined the interior, along with display cases offering jewelry and assorted gifts.

  Trying not to appear too clueless, she strolled around, squinting at incense sticks, metal balls in boxes, stones painted with odd symbols, and other strange items.

  She meandered toward the cashier, a middle-aged woman wearing huge dangling earrings.

  “Excuse me, but how do I find someone to do a reading?”

  The woman glanced up from the eBook reader in her hand. “The next room over has a chalk board, hon. It lists all the available mediums for today. You can use the phone to see who has an opening. Or, the hotel across the street has psychics on call. Was there a particular specialty you’re looking for?”

  “I’d like someone who can read runes.”

  The woman’s brow folded in thought. “That would be Reverend Hazel Sherman. She lives past the house on the hill at the end of Stevens Street. You can walk from here if you’re up for a stroll. That is, if she has a vacancy.”

  In a lucky break, Nira got an appointment with the recommended psychic. She wondered what to expect as she strode along a series of shady residential streets toward the given address. A woman with gypsy eyes wearing long earrings and a caftan? Incense burning in the background? New Age music playing while the Reverend read her fortune or summoned ghosts from her past?

  Reality intruded when she stopped at a quaint blue cottage on a quiet side street. Nira cast a glance over the jasmine hedge, flowering pink bougainvillea, and sculpted landscaping. Unlike some of the other dilapidated properties she’d passed, this yard appeared well tended. Her estimate of the occupant climbed a notch.

  Her eyes widened when a friendly brunette opened the door. “Hi, I’m Reverend Sherman. Please call me Hazel.” With a smile, the woman stood aside so Nira could enter.

  In the foyer, Nira assessed the Reverend’s lavender blouse, black pants, and pearl jewelry. She looked like the average businesswoman, especially when she led Nira into a furnished home office. What, no crystal ball?

  Her gaze took in the large wood desk, office chairs, bookshelves, and filing cabinets. A half-filled mug of tea sat on the desk, which also held a laptop computer, a disorderly array of papers, and a framed photo of two gray cats.

  “We can record our session, if you like.” Hazel sat behind the desk and regarded her with an encouraging smile.

  Cradling her purse in her lap, Nira sat in the spare chair while inhaling a pleasant vanilla scent. “That won’t be necessary. I’m here for a specific reason. The lady in the bookstore said you might be able to help me.”

  Hazel tilted her head. “What can I do for you, dear?”

  “First I’d like to know if you can interpret this symbol on my watch. I’m a grad student in mythology at UCF, and my professor says it’s a runic inscription.”

  “May I see that?”

  Nira unsnapped the band and handed over the watch. She rubbed her wrist. Her exposed skin itched. It showed white from lack of sunlight, a telltale strip the width of her band.

  Hazel put on a pair of eyeglasses for a closer look. “This has the same vertical structure as runes, but if these are letters, they’ve run together. Or else they are backward. Runes can be read from left to right or from right to left, sometimes both on the same artifact. They’re usually found on stones, weapons, or jewelry. Where did you get this?”

  “From my birth mother. I was adopted, and I’m trying to trace my true parentage.”

  Hazel clutched the watch against her chest and stared into space. “You’re on a quest, seeking to learn more about yourself. You will find answers, but you may not like them. Call upon the strength within you. Your power will emerge when the need arises.”

  Goosebumps rose on Nira’s flesh. Was Hazel referring to strength of will or Nira’s innate power?

  Hazel continued in a flat, rapid voice. “You search for someone dear to you. She is not yet lost. Persistence will lead to reunion but not without cost.”

  Nira sucked in a breath. Did she mean Grace?

  “My friend, is she okay? Where can I find her?”

  “Continue on your path, and the way will be revealed.” Hazel scrunched her forehead. “I see someone else at your side. It’s hard to tell who it is. The shape flickers and changes…”

  “It could be the guy I’m working with. Zohar has his own mission, but we’ve teamed up and—”

  “No, not him.” Hazel’s eyes skewed toward hers. “This entity lurks in the shadows and is evil. Beware, it watches you.” She thrust the timepiece back at Nira. “Here, I can do nothing more.”

  “What about my rune?”

  Hazel’s lips pursed. “I am not well versed in runecasting, but I know someone who is. Edith doesn’t get out much and abhors visitors, but you can give her a try. You’ll have to drive there, though. She’s got her own place in the woods.”

  “Edith?”

  “Edith Marsh.” The psychic leveraged to her feet. “She used to make a living doing readings until she came across something that frightened her. I wonder…” Hazel’s face grew pensive, then she shook her head. “Anyway, you can ask her your questions, if she’ll let you in.”

  Nira scraped her chair back and stood, her knees trembling. Bewildered by Hazel’s remarks, she fastened her watch on and secured her purse.

  After accepting payment, Hazel guided her to the door. Just before she let Nira go, however, she touched her arm.

  “Be careful, dear. And be warned. Your companions may not be all they seem.”

  Nira swallowed. “Thank you. I appreciate your time.”

  She watched her footing over the cracked pavement outside, sniffing a cloyingly sweet scent as she made her way downhill toward the lake below. Tall, leafy trees shaded the street, interspersed with splashes of color from flowering plants. Thunder rumbled in the distance, confirming her earlier impression of a coming storm.

  A storm was coming all right, in more ways than the weather.

  What had she learned from Hazel, other than Grace was still alive and unharmed? She took reassurance from that belief, but what about the warning regarding her companions and the mention of her inner strength?

  A bottomless morass opened before her. Unanswered questions swirled within, spiraling deeper into the unknown. The more she learned, the less she knew. Where would it end? When would she go back to the routine she’d known before the fateful job interview that had changed her life?

  She yearned to earn her doctorate and qualify for a teaching position at the University. Then she would make enough money to buy a townhouse and get a good camera. She’d always liked photography but never had the time or equipment to pursue it. People fascinated her. She wanted to capture the expression on a person’s face during an instant that would never occur again.

  But that was before Zohar and the Trolleks, before she understood that tracing her origins was more than an adopted child’s desi
re. And forget her travel plans. The only Norway she’d be visiting was their pavilion at the local theme park.

  She hadn’t even considered losing Grace so soon. Perhaps later, after an illness, or as the result of old age when Nira would have time to prepare. But not now, and not because of her foolish wish to visit Drift World.

  Guilt assailed her. She turned the corner, her shoulders slumped. Weeds grew between cracks in the sidewalk, reminding her of the dimensional rifts, ever widening. Like the Trolleks who would destroy their world, roots encroached, threatening to break apart the pavement. The roots needed to be cut back and the weeds eradicated.

  “Nira Larsen?”

  Her thoughts scattered, and she snapped to attention. She stood in front of the village bookstore. A man leaned against a car in the hotel parking lot across the street. The vehicle was the same Subaru that had been behind her on the way into town.

  The fellow waved at her. He had peppery hair, craggy features, and a sledgehammer torso judging from the taut fit of his trousers. He wore a dress shirt and tie that seemed incongruous with his pudgy appearance.

  “Yes, that’s me.” Her muscles tensed. Damn, she’d forgotten again to ask Zohar for a weapon. Should she use the ring to summon help? Wait and see what he wants.

  He strode over and unfolded a wallet. “I’m Detective Dan Carlson, from Orange County.” He flashed a badge. “Do you have a few minutes? I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Orange County? He’d come all the way from Orlando just to interview her? He must have picked up her trail in Winter Park where she’d met her sisters.

  Her pulse accelerated. “Is it normally your routine to follow suspects so far from home?”

  His cool gaze appraised her. “Who said anything about you being a suspect?”

  Oops. “Then what’s this about?”

  “The explosion at your house. Your landlady’s death.”

  “Grace isn’t dead.”

  “No? Then where is she? No one has seen or heard from her since the incident. Her car was parked in the garage.”

  “Did you check with her son in California?” Something she should have done, Nira realized.

  “Grace Miller has not contacted her son. He was disturbed to hear of his mother’s disappearance. What can you tell me about the explosion, Miss Larsen?”

  “It’s in the police report. I’m sure you’ve read it by now.”

  “A neighbor saw you on the lawn outside just afterward. You had friends with you, and you left with them in a white van.”

  She adjusted her sunglasses. “I’d just arrived home with the guys. They’re, uh, cousins from out of town. One of the men smelled something funny, and we ran out the door. Then the house blew up. The cops figure it was a gas leak. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I looked up your records. You don’t have any other known relatives besides your sisters.”

  She lifted her chin. “My statement stands. Read it again.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I gather you wanted the police report to file a claim for Grace’s insurance.”

  “She’ll get the money when she returns. I am just as keen to locate her as you are.”

  “Are you aware of the provision in Mrs. Miller’s will?”

  Her stomach sank. “What provision?”

  The detective’s eyes became two ice orbs. “Where she leaves her house and all her personal possessions to you?”

  “What? Why me and not her son?”

  “He gets the rest of her assets.” Carlson stepped closer. “Who were those men with you? Names, addresses, occupations? And how come we got a report of a van with a similar description in the vicinity of Lake Buena Vista?”

  She swallowed, feeling her face drain of color. “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone heard shouts coming from an alley behind a shopping center. By the time officers arrived on the scene, no one was present, but they found traces of blood on the pavement.”

  “If your witness saw a van, it could have belonged to anyone. Now if you don’t mind,” she said, tapping her watch, “I’ve got to run. This conversation is finished.”

  “Here’s my card.” He handed one over. “If you think of something I should know, call me.” His voice lowered to a deceptively soft tone. “I’m aware of how good girls can fall in with the wrong people. They make you do things you wouldn’t ordinarily do. Be aware, though, that being an accessory to a crime comes with stiff penalties.”

  “Thanks for sharing that information.” Nira stalked to her car, giving up her plan to scour the bookstore for resources on runes. She beeped her remote and opened the driver’s door.

  “Did the psychic provide any comfort?” Carlson persisted, following in her wake.

  “What do you mean?”

  He moved his face to within inches of hers. She recoiled at his radish breath.

  “Were you able to communicate with Grace from beyond the grave, to tell her you’re sorry?”

  “She’s not dead.” Nira glared at him.

  “Then prove it. Where is she?”

  “I wish I knew. I’m searching for her myself.”

  “Tell me how to reach your friends. Their van is rented, you know. They paid cash in advance.”

  “Did they?” One foot inside the car, she paused, startled by a new thought. Had he looked at her credit card transactions? Because if so, he could follow the paper trail to their safehouse. She had to tell Zohar.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, she fumbled to fit the key into the ignition. Her fingers shook. How dare he insinuate that she’d killed Grace for her own gain.

  “Goodbye, Detective. This interview is over.” She slammed and locked the door.

  Even if he had tracked her credit card charges, Carlson could be biding his time until he figured out what Nira’s associates planned.

  She drove from the lot and headed out of town. At a stop sign, she peered into the rearview mirror. So far no sign of the Subaru, thank goodness. She dug into her purse, retrieving her cell phone. Her fingers punched the number Zohar had given her. One of these days, she’d have to learn how to use voice commands.

  “Nira, it’s good to hear from you. Is everything all right?” Paz asked in a concerned tone.

  “Yes, I’m okay. I need to reach Zohar.”

  “He took a shuttle for a mission and is on radio silence. Do you need assistance?”

  “No, but the police are on my tail about the explosion at Grace’s house. You guys have been spotted in my company. They may be watching the house.”

  “No problem. The defense grid is in place.”

  “Our people might be followed from there. The cops are on to the van.” Her shoulders ached. She rolled her neck to ease the tension.

  “All right, I’ll tell Borius. He’s the only one home right now. Are you returning?”

  “Not yet. I’m going to see a woman who might be able to read runes.”

  “Good fortune, sira. I will pass your message on to our captain when he checks in.” He hesitated. “You should know. Dal has taken ill.”

  “What happened?”

  “Stomach pains. Yaron accompanied him to the medical facility.”

  “Couldn’t you take him to the ship? I mean, your sick bay is probably better equipped than our hospitals.”

  “His condition was too critical for transport.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry.” She winced as an unpleasant thought surfaced. “Warn Yaron about the authorities. They might use this opportunity to question him, perhaps even to arrest him if they have evidence of arson.”

  Detective Carlson hadn’t mentioned his findings at all. She’d done most of the talking. Fool. She should have tried to interrogate him in turn.

  “Consider it done. Take care, Nira Larsen, and stay out of trouble.” Leashed tension strained his voice.

  It must irk him to remain on the ship while the others took action. Nonetheless, his post was important. With everyone dis
persed, he became the glue that held them together.

  Worried about Dal’s condition, she forced herself to focus. The sooner she finished her business here, the quicker she could get back to Orlando.

  A sense of power flowed through her. She hadn’t realized how much of a victim she’d become. First, her parents abandoned her as a baby. Next, her adoptive father deserted his family. Then her mother died, leaving Nira to care for her sisters. Finally, the Trolleks sucked her into their quagmire.

  Well, no more. She’d take matters into her own hands hereafter. She’d already killed people. She’d fought against terrible beasts. She would survive like always, just not in the same way. Knowing she possessed special abilities gave her the confidence she’d never had before.

  She glanced at the directions Hazel had scribbled on a piece of paper. Just ahead was the signpost where she had to turn left. It led her to a dirt road. Her Camry bumped along as the trees closed in and overhead branches blocked the sunlight.

  Would this be another dead end, or would she finally learn the meaning of the symbol on her watch?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nira braked in a cloud of dust in front of a one story Florida cracker house with a steep hipped roof, shaded porch, and stone chimney. From the neglected yard, peeling paint, and rickety wood steps, the place appeared deserted. But as she approached, after locking her car, she noted a figure scooting behind a window shade.

  “Hello?” She climbed a short flight of stairs onto the covered front porch. “My name is Nira Larsen. Reverend Hazel Sherman sent me.” She dodged a crooked floorboard before knocking on the door.

  “Go away. I don’t want no visitors,” a woman’s voice yelled.

  “I need your help. Please.”

  “You got something wrong with your ears? Leave now, before I shoot you.” A weapon cocked.

  Zohar, you really should give me one of your ray guns. “If you’re Edith Marsh, I need your help interpreting a rune.”

  “I’ll give you one last chance, missy.” Footsteps neared.

  Refusing to be intimidated, Nira stood her ground. “I inherited a watch from my birth mother. There’s lettering etched onto its face. My professor says the symbol is runic in origin, but the letters are all jumbled.” Desperation edged her tone. “Please, you have to help me.”