by Lara Nance
Shana twisted away, wiping her cheeks with her hands. “Yeah. Stupid me. I can’t help it. I don’t know how to explain it, but when Dealers have—uh, make love, a bond forms. They become a part of you. No matter what happens, Marc will always be a part of me.”
“It’s obvious you guys still care for each other. It’s not just you. I see it in his eyes, too. Maybe you should give it another try.” She squeezed Shana’s shoulders. It was hard to comfort Shana when her own heart ached to bond with someone so badly, but she’d wanted to say this to Shana for a long time.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he can still care for me as anything other than a friend.”
“It’s worth it to try. You guys are super, crazy perfect for each other.”
“Really?”
“You know how hard it is to have a relationship with someone who’s not a Dealer.” Cara’s tone sharpened more than she’d intended at the thought of Tom. Sadness crept in and she pushed it away. No time for self-pity.
“Plus, you’re a nurse and he’s a physician. Seriously, girl, there has to be some common ground there.” She forced a smile and stabbed the butter knife into the mayo jar. “Take the drinks and I’ll bring the sandwich.”
When Shana left, Cara leaned against the cabinet and squeezed her eyes shut. She balled her fists and pounded the granite counter top until the pain in her hands overtook the pain in her heart. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she erected a brick wall around her emotions. She had to stay strong. For the group. For her sanity.
She returned to the living room. Marc sat straight in his chair, blue eyes open, a sheepish grin creasing the pale skin around his mouth. She handed him a glass of milk and the thick sandwich. He took them and gave her a nod.
“What happened, sweetie?” Amber sat on the arm of the couch beside her husband. “I detected an awful lot of fear in you.”
“Guys, I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean it to go so far.” Marc stuffed a massive bite of sandwich in his mouth. He gulped his milk and raked shaking fingers through his blond curls.
“Yeah, you never do!” Shana stood beside the sofa, wine glass in hand, tapping one foot.
Cara coughed and pointed to the glass. “Sit. Drink. Chill.”
Shana rolled her eyes but complied with a “humph.”
Marc sent Cara a look of gratitude, and continued his story. “This young girl came into the ER, only fourteen, and she’d been viciously raped and cut. Based on her vitals, I thought she was in shock and had lost so much blood we wouldn’t have time to get a transfusion going. So, I hoped I’d get her stabilized with the Light. I do stuff like that all the time. But when I connected to her I got this rush of mental images. Horrific stuff.” Marc shook his head and took another bite of food.
A tensed hush settled over the group, only sounds of Marc’s chewing disrupted the silence.
“The images were from the girl?” Amber rubbed her hands over her arms.
“Yes. I saw the attack from her eyes. I felt what she felt. I can’t describe how ghastly those visions were. There were four men all dressed in black hooded cloaks. They had her tied up and took turns cutting or raping her—very ritualistic. After each attack, they would put their hands on her and just watch.” Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. He tilted his head back, facing the ceiling. The muscles along his jaw twitched.
The air grew heavy and Cara shuddered at the mental picture of the poor girl being tortured so viciously. What kind of monsters would do such a thing?
Tears formed in Shana’s eyes and her stiff shoulders slumped.
“Did they find who did it?” How like Tor, the policeman, to worry about catching the bad guys. “I’ve been at the dojo all night so I haven’t been listening to my radio.”
“I don’t know. I was so involved with working on the girl I didn’t pay any attention to what the police were saying. They came in with the family and were talking to them while the EMT’s wheeled her in.”
“What happened after the images started?” Alistair brought them back to Marc’s tale, his brow furrowed behind his glasses.
“The flow of images drew me in and I couldn’t break the connection. I knew it was too much, but the drain was powerful. Maybe the Light was being used for mental healing as well as physical. But I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life.”
Marc eyed each person in the room. “I’m really sorry, you guys. I know I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again, but this was something different. When I collapsed, it broke the contact, otherwise I think I would be dead.”
“It’s okay, Marc,” Amber said, her green eyes gentle. “We’re only upset because we’re so concerned about you. You couldn’t have known this would happen. It’s unheard of.”
Tor took his wife’s hand and kissed it, his gaze tender. Cara’s heart ached at the loving gesture.
“I want to see if I can find out about the perps.” Tor stood, pulled his phone out of his gi pants pocket and moved into the kitchen.
Marc shifted in his chair. “You know, that girl was like a shell, sucked dry, with only the tiniest spark left.”
“Strange,” Alistair said. “How did she lose so much Light? Even in death the residual of Light only fades after a few days.”
“Her vitals were in the toilet, but I thought it came from blood loss. Now I know it was loss of Light.” Marc finished his sandwich and Cara motioned for him to set the plate on the side table.
“Thanks, C.” He chugged the remaining milk and a flush of pink tinged his formerly chalk-white cheeks.
Alistair patted his sparse gray hair, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Hmm. I did a lot of research about our kind many years ago when I first found out about what was going on with me. There’s something about all this stirring a memory. I can’t quite put a finger on it.”
Tor returned to the living room, brow furrowed. “Looks like the dudes got away. The police have no idea who did it.” Murmurs and sighs of disappointment ran around the room.
“But there is some good news. The girl survived. So your efforts were not in vain, pal.” Tor slapped Marc on the shoulder.
Marc let out a deep breath. “Thank God.”
Tor rubbed his chin and paced over to Amber. “This is weird and maybe not connected, but we have three recent unsolved deaths. The coroner can’t find a reason why they should be dead. No heart attack, no drugs, no trauma, nothing.”
Silence claimed the room and a shiver coursed through Cara’s chest. “Are you suggesting someone is killing people by draining their Light?”
“Think about it, guys. Everyone in the department is baffled by these killings.” He frowned and scratched his head. “Now, draining a person of Light, man, it’s the only possible method of killing that makes sense. It’s the perfect murder.”
Chapter Four
Cloaked figures filed into the dank basement one at a time, hooded heads down. Waiting at the other end of the room, Desmond’s nostrils flared at the smell of mold and dried blood. Gas lanterns hanging from hooks on the concrete block walls cast an eerie, flickering glow about the chilly underground room. He moved toward the men, weaving between the sparse objects scattered about: a few boxes, a wooden chair, and a worn leather sofa covered with a dirty sheet. Splashes of rusty brown marked the floor and walls.
Desmond motioned for the ten robed men to stand in a line facing the back wall of the basement. The men’s heavy, muffled breaths increased in anticipation, blowing through the black scarves covering their lower faces. Desmond’s lips curled. He loved these rituals, making them wear black cloaks, having them call him “Master.” It all added to the mystery and strengthened his hold on them.
Creaking footsteps on the rotted wooden stairs heralded the entrance of others, along with a thud, thud, thud. Two more hooded men dragged the limp body of a man. His trussed feet hit the steps behind them.
Desmond’s eyes met those of the last man to arrive. Carlton prodded the victim and, when he groaned, nodded to Desm
ond. The man still lived.
Excellent, the beating hadn’t killed him. Yet.
Desmond raised an arm, pointing to the back wall. The men carried their unconscious victim there and attached the shackles imbedded in the wall to his wrists. One slapped their victim’s face until his head lolled back, and his eyes flickered open. He moaned and dropped his head to his chest. A rustle of fabric accompanied the watchers shifting on their feet, shoulders rubbing together.
“I bring you prey to fulfill your needs.” Desmond’s deep, resonating voice filled the basement. A cold shiver of anticipation fluttered across his skin. He ran his tongue along the bottom of his teeth, savoring this moment, of holding a person’s fate in the hollow of his hand. His fingers twitched. “Never forget who is your master. I can crush you or bring you pleasures. Follow my orders and you will have more victims than you can possibly imagine. But if you disobey—you die.”
The black robes rustled, like vultures rustling their feathers.
“Yes, Master,” the enslaved men said in unison.
He raised his hands in a grand gesture and allowed them to hover a moment before dropping them heavily to his sides. “Begin.”
Carlton and the group surged forward, placing their fingertips at different areas of the man’s body. The barely conscious man had been beaten until only a thread of life held him to this world, but his suffering remained. Desmond closed his eyes, imagining the flow of misery-laden energy his men enjoyed. A delicious, surging pulse of terror-soaked adrenaline. Better than cocaine, better than heroin. It bound them to him. Slaves.
Once the victim had been completely drained, one of the men loosened the shackles, letting the body fall to the floor in a heap, a hollow shell. The others stepped back, eyes large and glowing like bright moons, nostrils flaring, all of them staring at the lifeless mound on the floor.
Desmond made a flicking motion with one hand, and several of the men stepped forward. They lifted the limp form off the floor to place it on the dirty sheet. One tucked the sides over the body so it was completely covered.
“Make sure you dispose of it better than the last one. No more dumpsters. I don’t want him found right away.” He threw back his hood, eyeing each of his slaves until they flinched and hung their heads.
Four men carried the body upstairs, quickly followed by the others. Carlton remained. He also removed his hood and studied his master. “Why does it matter when they’re found, Desmond?”
“I have plans, and I do not wish them to be interrupted. There’s been one mistake already, leaving the girl in an alley before she was dead. I understand she ended up at the hospital and she’s going to live. You should hope she remembers nothing that will lead to us.”
“We heard a police car coming. It would have been a disaster to let them find us before the Net is cast.”
“If we’re sloppy in disposing of the bodies we may be discovered before I’m ready.”
“But dead is dead, no one will know who did it.”
Desmond scoffed. “You’re still so young, Carlton. There are many things you do not know about our kind.”
Carlton directed a scrutinizing gaze at Desmond. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been with me for five years, but remember I am a thousand years old. I come from the spirit of the Gods. I understand the frailty of mortals in a way you cannot. These men are slaves to the tortured Light, but they have no will-power.”
Desmond put out one wraithlike finger and trailed it down Carlton’s cheek, the long fingernail scratching a red welt in its path. “My dear boy, even you are still ensnared with desire for the glorious hurting sensation. Am I not right?”
Carlton pressed a hand to his wounded cheek as tears of pleasure welled in his eyes. “Yes, Master.”
“Ah, yes, the wonderful pain.” Desmond leaned closer until he smelled the sweaty desire, a pungent, musky aroma he knew so well from centuries of enslaving others to his will. “See how it almost overpowers you?”
Carlton trembled and nodded, obviously wanting more. He wanted the treat of taking Light from Desmond’s body, where horrifically painful memories from Desmond’s life produced an intoxicating elixir of pain-tinged Light. But it didn’t serve his purpose to give this treat too frequently. He stepped away, turning his back on the younger man.
“I have recently sensed a presence I’ve not felt in a long time—a dangerous presence—one I curse with every cell in my body. I want to destroy him. But he’s also the only one who can stop us. We must be vigilant and keep an eye on these young converts of ours. They can be thoughtless and rash in their hunger. Soon I must send them out into the world, and they cannot make careless mistakes to mark our presence.”
Unbidden, his mind flashed to the past and the humiliating battle with his greatest enemy, Bes, or “Rolf” as he called himself now. The fury of their battle ripped apart the temple where they fought, and it collapsed on top of him. There he stayed, weak and trapped, for hundreds of years. Even now the memory sent a surge of anger, almost overwhelming him. Unlike mortals, he was unable to produce his own Light, and Bes left him to die a slow and horrible death.
A grim smile curled his lips, for he’d outwitted death in the end.
A shudder forced away the smile. At first, he’d thought he would go mad and perish in his rocky tomb, but after days alone and weakened, a rat ventured near. He grabbed the creature with the last of his strength, and drained a pitiful amount of Light from its crushed body. A sip of Light and his hatred of Rolf gave him the will to survive. “This presence from the past disturbs me. Do you know why, Carlton?”
“You can’t mean the one who defeated you is here? In Norfolk?”
“He did not defeat me,” Desmond snarled, whipping away from the younger man. He paced across the room, shaking with fury. “I am still alive, so I was not defeated.”
“I’m sorry, Master.” Carlton hung his head.
“You have no idea what I suffered. I am disturbed because success is within my reach. I will not let it slip away. I’ve waited too long.”
Carlton frowned. “So it is him?”
Desmond ignored his question, lost in the past. Hundreds of years, buried alive until the workers came to excavate the old temple ruins and one wretched soul came within his grasp.
“It took me decades to regain my full powers, and amass the wealth I need to accomplish my goals. My plans are ready to launch and I cannot let Rolf interfere until I am prepared to destroy him.”
Desmond stalked closer to Carlton. Soon he would need to let Carlton take some of his Light to further his addiction, but not just yet. The need would ensure his servant’s diligence. He continued behind his slave. “You must make certain the men adhere to my commands. There can be no mistakes,” he whispered close to the younger man’s ear.
Carlton’s eyes widened, sweat popping out on his face as his tongue snaked over his lips. “Yes, you’re right, of course. I’ll make sure they follow your orders exactly.”
“Excellent.” Desmond circled back to face his young henchman. “Set them straight and return. I need you working on the computer program. I fear we may not have as much time as I’d originally planned to accomplish our goal. Readying the program must be our main focus.”
Carlton’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve barely started hacking the television networks, and it will still be several hours before the links are in place to run the massive program.”
“I’m sure you’re up to the task. Make it happen, Carlton, and you may have a treat.”
Carlton sucked in a breath, stumbled back, and gave a half bow before hurrying up the stairs after the others.
Desmond called after him, “Nothing must anger the Huaca, Carlton. Nothing.”
Chapter Five
Cara steered her car into the parking lot of Essence of Amber, her cell phone pressed to her ear. She parked and after a moment, hit the END button with a grunt of frustration. “Damn it, Nicki. Where are you?”
This was the four
th call with no answer. Either Nicki wasn’t answering on purpose, or she didn’t have her phone on. Hopefully, she hadn’t met with any more problems. Cara didn’t want to hear the girl had ended up in the ER like the one Marc saved.
Amber’s natural food store sat on a side street near the coastline in Virginia Beach. Cara climbed the front steps of the old two-story wooden house to the large front porch with rockers scattered about. Several patrons rocked away, smiling, nibbling on scones, and sipping smoothies. The old floor boards squeaked in time with their rocking. Wind chimes tuned to complement the seven chakras sent a tinkling melody across the light fall breeze.
Inside, Cara paused to inhale the delightful fragrances of sandalwood and cinnamon. Amber stood behind the counter at the food bar. She handed a paper bag to a customer and smiled when she saw Cara. She raised a finger indicating she would be finished in a minute. Cara wandered over to a group of worn, plump easy chairs and loveseat gathered in front of an unlit fireplace. She crossed to the tall bookshelf behind the loveseat and fingered a few spines before pulling out a book to study the back cover. The Healing Gift of Crystals. Interesting.
Settling onto the sofa, she let her purse strap fall off her shoulder and flipped through the book. Many people believed crystals had magical properties, and, although she’d never used them in healing, the information here fascinated her. Maybe she ought to give crystals a try.
Amber strolled up with a tray containing a pot of tea and four warm apple-cranberry muffins. She placed the tray on the small table positioned in the middle of the seating group and poured two cups of steaming tea. Cinnamon with a hint of nutmeg wafted through the air. Cara’s stomach growled and she discarded her book, dropping it onto the seat beside her.
“Mmm.” She crumbled the warm muffin in her fingers and Amber handed her a cup of tea. “These are great,” Cara mumbled between bites.
“Being vegetarian isn’t all bad,” Amber reminded her for the four hundredth time. “Are you feeling okay today?”
