by Cait London
In fact, through Stella Mornay, Rolf’s father knew quite a bit about Greer and her triplets. He’d known exactly when Greer would be gone and when was the best time to contact the parapsychologists. Greer Aisling had already refused their attempts to test the triplets, and they instantly initiated suspected neglect and abuse charges.
“Thanks, dear old dad.” Rolf savored the hatred running through his blood; it made him strong. He was even more powerful than his father, who had ruined the triplets’ grandmother forever.
Rolf’s father had meticulously described each step: He’d weakened Stella Mornay and turned her energy back on herself. He’d given Stella time to weigh how really bad she was before deepening that guilt. Overwhelming guilt—with no release—had taken her to another place, where all her visions had collided into a nonreality.
With Rolf’s father as a teacher, and his father before him, the Borg-descendants had learned well. Each improved the technique of using water and mist to call forth that Viking sailing blood—blood the Aislings shared.
That day in the shop, taking a part of Leona’s energy had been easy. But Rolf hadn’t expected her to snatch that bit of his.
“But then, that could prove useful, a bit of me—in Leona,” Rolf mused, and added, “We’re linked now. I can use that. It’s time to get everything back that Thorgood took away from us. It’s time to repay Greer for my own personal humiliation.”
Rolf ran the tip of the blade lightly over the glossy photograph of Thorgood’s brooch, which was taped to the mirror. Leona had been so busy that she hadn’t missed it. “You’ll be mine soon. So will every power you hold.”
Seventeen
“MOTHER IS TRYING TO REST. SHE’S HAD ENOUGH FOR ONE night,” Leona said as she settled onto the sofa with Owen. “She wants to go out to the farm before daylight. The earth and air will be fresh and damp. She’d be the strongest then.”
Owen drew her into his arms. Greer had been badly shaken by the actual cause of Daniel Bartel’s death, a young psychic-in-training.
The boy’s trainer? Most likely his father, who transferred his hatred, desire for revenge, and obsession with the cursed brooch to his son.
Owen had recognized the pure rage in Greer’s and Leona’s dark gold eyes. If psychics could combine their gifts to become stronger, the women could have started a storm inside the house.
“She wants to go before daylight…that’s only five hours from now.” Owen’s thumb stroked the soft, outer curve of Leona’s breast as she snuggled against him. Strange, how a woman’s softness and warmth could comfort him without the need for sex. “Did Greer tell you who she thinks he is?”
“No. She’s dealing with a fresh grief now—and her anger. She’s always been cautious to shield us from her own emotional trauma.”
Owen lay back on the sofa and drew Leona’s head to his chest. “The vibrations are zinging all over this house. I can feel them. You’ve both got to get control. We have to move very carefully now. One wrong move, and this guy can go underground again. We’re too close now, Leona.”
“I’d buried that scene with Grams. Owen, a part of me still can’t believe she committed suicide. But every other person who had been used, their energies siphoned off, has done the same thing. Grams’ case was different. Her extrasensories were unwanted, but strong. She didn’t want her insanity to be used as a weapon against us.”
“She must have loved you all very much.”
“Enough to die for us. I swear, I will kill this new monster, Owen.”
“Settle down. We’ll get this creep. But right now, you need to rest.” Owen stroked her hair and watched the fiery highlights play through his fingers. Just holding Leona, knowing that she was safe, eased him. Max had started pacing, making the rounds of the house. Owen understood—the dog wanted to hunt, just as he did. But tonight, it was better to stay near and safeguard the women. “Don’t think about that. Is there anything that you can do to help your mother rest?”
“Other than finding that creep and letting her at him? No, I don’t think so. She asked me to leave her alone. That’s what she does when she needs to calm herself and refocus. My mood now isn’t helping her. She wants me to reassure my sisters.” Leona tensed slightly and glanced at the telephone. “That’s Tempest.”
Owen didn’t question Leona but reached for the telephone and handed it to her. A man’s voice rumbled and Owen listened carefully. If the late-night caller was the killer, Owen didn’t want Leona talking to him. When Leona began to speak, he took the telephone. “Owen Shaw here. You’ll have to deal with me.”
On the other end of the line, a woman yelled, “Damn you, Marcus! Give me back that phone.”
“She’s yelling at Marcus, so you’re right—it is Tempest,” Owen whispered to Leona.
For the first time that night, Leona seemed amused as a man’s voice rumbled over the line. Instead of taking the receiver from him, she got up and moved into the kitchen.
Owen glanced at her as he listened to the slight crunching sound on the other end of the line. Then Leona’s brother-in-law spoke crisply. “Marcus Greystone here. What are you doing, Shaw? Running interference? My wife knows something is wrong and wanted to call Leona. It’s hell controlling Tempest when she thinks one of her family is in danger. I had to take the phone from her. I’d prefer she didn’t get so excited just now. Where are we in this thing? Is Greer okay? Tempest says she can feel the vibrations from here. Neil just called. Claire is upset, and both our women are ready to come down there. All I can tell you is that this red-haired bunch can be pretty excitable, and it’s difficult keeping a lid on the situation. Neil and I haven’t been having fun in the mornings, you know. The idea of travel and air currents, landing…”
Marcus’s voice trailed off, then hardened into a masculine clip as he explained. “It’s our wives, you know. Morning sickness. We have to be careful of them now…. My God, they’ve got a lot of energy. I’m so tired lately.”
Owen smiled briefly, then quickly filled Marcus in on the details. When he heard three clicks on the telephone line, he turned to the kitchen and saw Leona holding the other phone. “It’s my wife,” Marcus sighed. “She’s on the extension. From the sound of it on your end, so is Leona, and just maybe Greer.”
“Hello, Marcus. How are you?” Greer asked calmly, as if she’d never experienced the trauma of a short time ago. “I’d like to remind you that your father is not, repeat not telling me that I can or cannot go anywhere—especially if I want to visit my own daughters. The moment I get back, I am evicting him from the premises.”
“Well, Greer, I’m sure you’ll handle my father,” Marcus stated in a tone that suggested he was grinning. “By the way, he just told me that he thinks you’re a beautiful woman.”
Greer’s silence preceeded a cool, “Good night, Marcus. Give my love to Tempest.”
Tempest’s hoot of laughter sounded on the line, then Greer sighed. “Good night, everyone.”
Instantly, there were three disconnect clicks, and Leona came to sit beside Owen. She stared at him, one eyebrow lifted, as if mocking the man-to-man conversation.
“You think you’ve got a line on this guy, Owen?” Marcus asked, his tone deadly serious.
Owen held the phone away as Leona reached for it. She looked as if she were ready to argue with Marcus. “I’m working on it. We’re close.”
“It’s damned difficult keeping out of this situation,” Marcus muttered. “Keep us posted.”
When Owen hung up the line, Leona stood and stared coolly down at him. Owen expected a lecture, but instead she held out her hand to him. “Let’s go to bed. We only have a few hours to rest.”
Owen hesitated just slightly, uncertain of Greer in the next room. Then Leona added, “You and Marcus and Neil can’t help yourself. For that matter, Kenneth Ragnar can’t either. It’s a male thing, bred into you. Only it’s ten times worse than regular men, because you’re all bred to be Viking cowboys, circling the wagons, protecting the w
omen.”
Taking her hand, he rose and followed Leona into her bedroom. “Just give me a sword and a shield.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“From Marcus?”
“And Neil. They seem to complement each other—Neil as the lighter temperament, Marcus as head-on. I’ve enjoyed jousting with both of them, but there comes a time when the big-brother act grates. It’s been hell without my very own sword-and-shield man.”
For a few heartbeats, Owen wallowed in his new position, an accepted mate for his woman. She was taking him to her bed. It was his right to lie beside Leona and comfort her in the trying hours. She needed him as a woman needs a man.
He looked down at Max, who had followed them, then pointed to the opposite bedroom. Greer might need the comfort of the dog in the next restless hours. Obediently, Max padded to the Greer’s room and huffed a few times. The door opened, and he padded inside.
Leona and Owen knew that sleep was probably not on their agenda tonight as they settled into Leona’s bed. When Owen’s hands ran lightly over her body, Leona understood his need to reassure himself that she was safe.
He looked at where Joel’s portrait had hung. “It’s gone.”
“But not forgotten. He was a kind, good man, and it’s time to put him to rest.” She stroked Owen’s cheek, her fingers winnowing through his hair. “I should call Claire. Hold me while I talk to her. She’ll understand more about you then.”
As Leona folded her body back against him, spoon fashion, Owen focused on the calm center within him. Leona needed him to help her. She had to tell her sister, and Claire was far too sensitive. Sensing his support as she waited for Claire to answer, she turned slightly to look up at him. “Thank you.”
As Leona spoke quietly to Claire, Owen let himself float easily into the softness of her voice. He followed the stream until he found an opening, then gently slid his heartbeat’s steady pulse through it.
Leona tensed in his arms and turned to him, her eyes wide and surprised. “Yes, that was Owen. He’s feeling his way around, but he knows there are passages in which he is stronger…. Instincts? A natural hunter? Maybe. But we know it’s something more, don’t we? I need to go, Claire. We’re going to find this bastard, and we’re very close. It’s just a matter of putting the pieces together…. Yes, truly I love you, I do. Tomorrow then…. Good night.”
Owen found a dark passage. Years ago, he and Jonas Saber had sought their vision-quests in the same manner. He followed the scarlet streams into another, and another. Another stream flowed from a side passage, winding around him. It was softer, yet it made him stronger, and he could see more clearly. He’d gotten that scene from Leona earlier: candlelight flickering on rocks that had been painted white, steps that were sagging and worn…. This time, a dark, cold, bottomless pool flowed around him, and sucked at his body. A long blade struck through it, and he raised his own…. A crash of metal against metal, and blood flowed down the blades….
“Exactly who is Jonas Saber?” Leona asked too quietly. “You said he was a friend?”
She’d been in that dark stream with him, and she’d snagged Jonas’s energy…. Owen decided that he needed a better time to explain what he suspected. He patted her bottom, caressed it a little, and snuggled her close in his arms. “My friend from Montana, the one who saw that my father’s gun was returned. He’s interested in buying a two-year-old thoroughbred at one of the farms. I said I’d show him around. We talk sometimes. Let’s get some sleep, honey.”
Leona turned to him, wrapped her arm and leg around his body. She nestled her face against his throat, and whispered drowsily, “Liar.”
With her warm and soft against him, Owen stared at the ceiling. With Max on guard in Greer’s room, and Leona in his arms, the women were safe for a few hours.
Dawn could change that.
They stood by the pond, exactly in the center of the triangle of natural water.
In the dim light of predawn, the water was slightly warmer than September’s cool air. Layers of mist settled over the pond as Greer and Leona began to walk toward it. Owen followed closely, his eyes watchful. Max stayed near, circling the humans as if on guard; he stopped periodically to sniff at the lush grass, bent with dew.
The women stopped in front of a small tree where the dew glistened on a delicate spiderweb, the fine, perfectly created web sagging beneath the weight.
“He’s like that spider, casting his web out for victims, drawing them in,” Leona murmured. She sensed that Greer would take her own time in giving the name they needed.
“The coward is in hiding, or the dog would be after him. If I’d had him in my hands last night, I would have—I have always detested that savagery in myself, the part that isn’t Aisling but comes from Thorgood. I had to see Owen for myself, how you had bonded with him,” Greer murmured. “He’s quiet cold steel to your impulsive, curious, and fiery warrior side. He sees the part you hide from the world. You love him, and yet you feel bound to Joel.”
“I realize now that I’ve never given Joel closure. It’s probably because on some level I sensed that he’d been murdered and needed to be avenged. I could have stopped him from on that trip. I felt guilty. Is that how you feel about Dad? That you loved him so much you couldn’t move on?”
“No, Daniel will always be with me. I see him in my daughters.” Greer lifted her face to the clean air. “I can feel that monster’s presence…he’s been here.”
“You know his name. Who is he?”
Greer looked up at the crows, their feathers gleaming blue-black in the first rays of sunlight. “I knew his energy, and I’d seen him in dreams—we’d both seen him in dreams. But I didn’t put that image together with a man I met years ago—another psychic. Until I started working with Janice, I hadn’t made the connection.”
Her fingertips dug into her arms. “His name is Rolf Erling. I believe he might be around forty or so now. I met him more than fifteen years ago. I was working a crime scene. A crowd had gathered, but I was locked into my work and ignored them. Then he stepped from the crowd. He called me a fake and wanted me to explain the details of the crime to the crowd right then. I refused to be put on display, but I did the read privately. I gave the victim’s last images to the police, who followed them to a murderer. Then came another challenge when I was receiving an award for helping find a serial killer. Erling had gathered a following of lesser gifted. They worshipped him and became his followers, using spider tattoos to mark themselves. His hair had been dyed red then, his complexion lightened—he was already an expert at disguise. But the eyes were compelling—black, bottomless, lifeless. I felt evil in him from the first. I just didn’t know how much.”
Greer drew her dark green woolen shawl closer around her body, the cold, damp morning penetrating her warm sweater and slacks. “I knew then that he wouldn’t stop trying to best me. That’s sometimes common for those who are driven to prove themselves. Erling came to challenge me again, this time among my collegues. It was at the World Convention of Psychic Minds ten years ago.”
As she stroked the wolf’s-head brooch at her shoulder, Greer’s eyes changed into dark gold. “I was the keynote speaker. He challenged me from the floor. By that time, I’d had enough and invited him up to the stage. I was determined to stop Erling’s insinuations and challenges once and for all. The audience was spellbound—to use a witch-word—and we began testing. It was grueling. Later, I was exhausted, but I had my pride. Erling was defeated and furious at every turn. We began with small tests, then invited people to the stage. We probed their pasts, their problems and illnesses. Rolf Erling had some talent. He was good at theatrics. But I finally showed him to be the fake that he really was—at the public display he just had to have—in front of the world’s most foremost psychics.”
Greer tightened her shawl around her. “Then he went too far, trying to probe inside me. He went for my tender spot, my mother’s death. Anyone could have discovered that by researching us. Or tha
t’s what I thought then. Now I know that he had very intimate knowledge of exactly why she committed suicide.”
She took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes, as if looking inside to the dark memories. “I blocked him successfully and returned the favor. I should have gone for information about his family, but I considered that beneath me. I only looked into his adult life. Perhaps even then, I sensed I couldn’t step too far into his evil. This took over an hour, and an official staff checked the details of my findings. They delivered the results to the crowd. The use of mind-bending drugs, amateur hypnotism, blackmail, and theatrics do not go a long way with my peers. They laughed him out of the auditorium. I went back to my life and family. I’d heard that he’d died in prison some years later…. I never thought about him again. I should have.”
Greer stopped suddenly and closed her eyes. “He must have been able to block me, or I would have caught visions about my husband and my mother, and possibly my daughters…. Perhaps even my father, his fatal heart attack. But I remember Rolf Erling’s energy. I feel the residue now. Rolf stood right here. He called to Janice.”
Greer held her face in her hands and shivered. “I should have remembered those eyes. How could I forget? They were in my dreams, Borg’s eyes. Maybe I didn’t want to remember anything so evil. Maybe I didn’t want to accept that such evil could actually be alive.”
Aware of her mother’s struggles, Leona whispered, “Please don’t go on. I know what this is costing you.”
“No, he has to be stopped. I have to do this.” Greer straightened and inhaled the morning air. She spoke as if she had to bring her darkness out into the fresh air to cleanse herself. “I tried to deny that the man in Janice’s sketch and in her mind was the same man as in my dreams of Thorgood and Aisling. How could that be possible, after all? But in working with Janice, I’ve seen his eyes too many times to forget. He’d already connected with her through her computer. He’d told her to ‘open’ when she saw mist circling the pond. She became very receptive to him, the frequency increasing as he experimented with her…the drugs, the subliminal tapes, the trigger words. He already knew of her weaknesses, of her life. He researches well—I give him that. Through Janice, I picked up traces of Rolf. But I had to be certain. Now I am. The Shaws’ move here was definitely his doing. But he didn’t expect that you would bond so quickly with Owen. He thought you had loved Joel too much. Rolf wants you for himself, an Aisling ‘witch,’ as his ancestors called my family.”
