The light, he thought with glee, and rushed to the hubcap.
If he should encounter the brilliance once again, he had to be ready. He had to look presentable and be on his best behavior if he would be gifted with its compassion.
Standing before the hubcap, he brushed back his quills and smiled. A rakish smile, he decided. Women had swooned when he turned that charm on them and let his inquisitive gaze travel over their bosom.
In the reflection of the hubcap, he once again saw that image of himself, jet-black hair ruthlessly slicked into place with pomade, blue eyes sparkling above perfect white teeth.
He had to be ready, he told himself, and ran his taloned hands down the front of his chest, trying to smooth the gray-green fur and occasional tufts of featherlike patches as if they were the fine silks and brocades of his former life. Satisfied with his handiwork, he went in search of the radiance, dashing back through the sewer tunnels in the direction of the mark he had made. He had already gone there several times during the night, but he hadn’t sensed the earlier presence. But now, as he approached, the force was there again, bigger and brighter and more welcoming than ever.
He paused a few feet from it and preened once again, wishing to make a good first impression. Then he crept forward slowly, drawn by the strength of the force contained within the circle of illumination. When he was barely an arm’s length away from the shimmering edge, he raised one hand, stretched it out, reaching ever closer. After a quick nervous breath, he said, “Huumann. I am h-huuman.”
Sharp cackles and chirps accompanied his almost indistinguishable words, and then he poked his long nail into the light and once again cried out, “H-huuman.”
Chapter 5
R icardo reared away, falling onto his backside as an unknown force touched his. Leaning on his hands, breathing heavily, he fought to shake off the sensation covering him, heavy and thick like an oil slick, polluting his energy and lingering beyond his control.
He shot up off the floor and whirled, examining every part of the room for the source of the other being.
Nothing.
Rushing to his door, he examined the street once again, as he had the last time he had encountered the strange sensation. Or maybe it was safer to say the alien life force, for with this contact, he knew that was what it had been.
Outside on the street, however, things were the same as always.
It didn’t surprise him when a few minutes later the phone rang and the caller ID indicated it was Samantha. “Buenos dias, amiga.”
“You felt it again, too, didn’t you?” she asked. “I can hear it in your voice.” The noises of the women and children in the shelter as they prepared for the day filtered over the line.
He sighed and pulled his hair back from his face. “Sí, I felt something, but there’s not much you can help me with until the sun is not as strong, verdad?”
“Right,” she confirmed with a shaky breath. “I’ll be over as soon as I can. By the way, have you seen Louis?”
She said it the French way—“Loo-ee.”
“Louis? The gray-and-white cat I always see on your stoop?” he asked. “He’s missing?”
“Sofia set out food for him a few days ago, but he hasn’t been around. That’s unusual.”
Very, Ricardo thought, recalling his own missing stray. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.” He worried that neither of the animals would turn up soon.
At least, not alive.
Which brought back reminders of the dark force that had touched him. Ricardo hadn’t had such an unnerving experience in years. Not since his stint in the marines.
Thinking back on it now, he realized that one event had irrevocably changed his life.
Would this one, as well? he wondered as he recalled that fateful day.
The typhoon had been big enough to toss around even their large ship. A medic, he’d been busy treating an assortment of bruises and breaks as the sailors struggled to ride out the worst of the storm on the open seas.
After the torrential rains and gargantuan winds had depleted their force, a bright cloudless sky and welcoming sun brought the call—they were needed in the Philippines as part of a relief mission. The coastal area had suffered devastating flooding and property damage and hundreds of residents were believed trapped beneath the rubble.
He had flown on one of the first choppers off the ship, along with a contingent of soldiers, to restore order and begin search-and-rescue efforts. He had not been prepared for the havoc the storm had wrought. All along the coast, small huts had been wiped out and bigger buildings had been heavily damaged.
As the chopper pilot located a clear spot to land, all Ricardo could think about was how many people might be trapped in that rubble, injured or on the edge of death.
He and his team had quickly set up a small medical center. Once the ship pulled closer to shore, additional men and supplies would be sent.
While he went out with some of the other medics to provide immediate assistance in the field, the doctors began to treat those who were capable of walking to the medical center.
During his training in the marines, Ricardo had realized that he could sense the energies of invalids, much as he had the sick and injured animals he had tended as a child.
He had realized that he could help his patients with a simple touch. Whether it was just to calm them or to ease their pain, he would lay his hands on them and do what he could. Because he was a medic, no one questioned what he did or how he helped the injured.
There in the devastated village where they had landed, the energies of those who were hurt or dying screamed at him as he passed by buildings that were still too unstable to enter. Hammered by the attack on his senses, he’d forced himself to focus on those within easy reach, soothing them with his touch so that he could determine the nature of their injuries, then using his medical training to stop their bleeding or splint broken bones until further assistance could be provided.
What pulled at his heart was the angry and grating forces of the people who lay dying but fighting for life. He had been trained to place them last. That others might live if he chose wisely.
Only he couldn’t.
He tended to them, even if all he did was lay a hand on them to ease their suffering, calm them on their way to death. Somehow, he was aware that if he used his energy too many times, he might die, as well. Still, he went on. With each touch, the victims drained something from him until he was too weak to continue.
That was when one of the other medics, looking almost as tired and bedraggled as he, motioned in the direction of one lone palm tree that had somehow survived the storm, and instructed him to take a short breather.
Ricardo walked over and sat down against the trunk. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and sucked in a breath, as if by doing so he might suck in some life. The afternoon sun was still strong on his face, filling him with warmth. Long minutes passed before a shadow blocked the sunlight. He squinted to see what had intruded on his rest, and met the gaze of a wizened old man. A Buddhist priest, the man was robed in orange, which, combined with the bright yellow of the sun limning his body, made him look ethereal. Peace radiated from him, soothing Ricardo’s frayed soul.
“May I help you?” He shaded his eyes with one hand so that he might see the man better.
“You are a healer,” the priest said in softly accented English.
“I’m a medic,” he clarified.
> “A healer,” the man repeated, and pointed toward one flattened structure.
As Ricardo looked in that direction, he realized it was the remains of a temple. He wondered if anyone had been in there.
“A few,” the priest said. “One of them lives still. One like you. He is calling for you. You must heed the call.”
At first Ricardo thought the old man was insane. Then he felt a sudden sense of another presence close by, and he couldn’t deny the priest’s plea.
Despite his weakness, he grabbed his medic’s kit, rose and slung it over his shoulder. Following the diminutive priest, he ran to one side of the building, where there appeared to be a tight tunnel cleared through the rubble. He shot a questioning glance at the priest.
The old man slipped his hands from beneath his robes. His palms and fingers were bloody. “I made my way to them, but…”
With a nod, Ricardo got down on his belly to fit into the tunnel. He crawled along, pulling himself on his elbows as he went deeper and deeper into the rubble, guided by the growing sense of the other man and his power. A very strong power similar to his, he realized. The closer he got, the greater the connection grew, until he reached the man, another priest.
He was pinned beneath a pile of rubble, crushed from his midsection down. Ricardo positioned himself next to him and felt his pulse. It was thready and weak, and the chill of shock already marked the man’s skin.
Ricardo knew that the moment the debris was removed the man would bleed to death from his injuries. It was only the weight of the rubble closing off the various injured arteries that had kept him alive.
Help me pass, he heard in his head as the man laid a hand on his arm.
That simple touch brought a shock like electricity. He perceived the man’s life force. His energy, sputtering as life failed him, seemed to gather at that spot where their hands touched. Suddenly, Ricardo felt a flow, like slow-moving water slipping over rocks in a stream. It passed over his hand and began to move up his arm.
Take this. Heal others, the priest instructed, his face calm, the command clear.
Ricardo’s gaze locked with his as, little by little, the power slowly ebbed from the priest, as did his life. When his eyes finally glazed over with death, the connection binding them evaporated.
Ricardo felt strangely reenergized, strong enough to go back and help others, much as the priest had asked. He said a short prayer for his soul and then passed his hand over the priest’s face—a serene face filled with joy—to close his sightless eyes.
Then he went back out through the tunnel and into the daylight. Ready to heal. Ready to heed the call.
Ricardo remembered that day and how many people he had helped. The old priest who had first sought him out had come to him again, assisting him as he worked on other villagers.
They’d labored through the night together, tending those who were not beyond help. Walking from one dying soul to another, they granted peace so the injured could pass. It was only in the earliest hours of dawn that they stepped aside to rest by the palm tree where they had first met.
It was there, while sharing water and rations, that the priest explained there was more about healing than Ricardo knew. His power had a dark side. One that might tempt him as it had so many others. Just as he could pour his power out to others to help them, he could also take power from others to help himself.
After the unusual event with the now-dead priest, and those whom he had helped that night, Ricardo was not so quick to disbelieve the man.
In the days that followed, as they worked together and later rested side by side, the priest had shown him some basic meditation techniques that would help him restore his energy.
His teacher had urged him to study so that he might grow more powerful in his abilities. He’d also warned him to always walk the path of light and goodness.
Ricardo had listened patiently and tried out the exercises. He discovered that the touch he had possessed since he was a small child grew stronger as he learned to build his life force and direct it. The light the priest spoke of filled his center and gave him focus and peace.
But as he and the priest had meditated one night, he had gotten a sense of something dark. A shadowy force skirting the periphery of his consciousness.
The priest had warned him to guard his essence quickly, and motioned in the direction of a man circling the buildings they had yet to enter. A dark aura seemed to cloak the figure, and as Ricardo watched him, the priest said, “He is a soul sucker.”
“A soul sucker?”
“He steals energy. The storm has given him a bounty to harvest, but if that was not there, he would take it from the living.”
Ricardo pondered the words as the strange man paused by one building, raised his hands and seemed to enter a trance. Before his very eyes, Ricardo saw what at the time he thought were lights. But now he understood more fully what they had been: the energies of the dead and dying. Set loose, they mingled with the free-floating power of the cosmos, available for harvesting if one knew how.
Like Ricardo now knew. Armed with the priest’s basic instructions, he had made a point of learning all he could about the meditation techniques that allowed him to amplify his natural powers. He also realized that the only difference between him and one of those the priest had called “soul suckers” was that he refused to use his power to rob life.
Even if it would ease suffering, he still declined, thinking back to Sara’s mom’s request that he help her pass. Taking that energy from her would free her from the pain of her existence, but doing so could lead him down the path to darkness the priest had warned him against.
And while Sara’s mom’s life force was good and pure and would not taint his own energy, her death would hurt Sara.
Sara, he thought with a sigh, recalling his connection with her. Like him, she had some of the healing touch within her. It was what had made the connection between them come so quickly.
But he couldn’t explore that connection or his attraction to the pretty nurse. He couldn’t afford such distractions, especially with the discovery that a malevolent power was somewhere nearby. He needed to find out more about that evil before it disrupted his meditations again.
Before it did worse….
Chapter 6
R icardo had called and asked her out to dinner, despite their consensus that it was unwise to mix business and pleasure. He had sounded conflicted, as if he really didn’t believe he was inviting her, and she had probably sounded just as troubled when she accepted.
Was she insane? The question rang like a litany in her brain. Ricardo Fernandez was trouble in a multitude of ways, and she was best off avoiding him.
Except she couldn’t forget what had happened the other day, from his surprise kiss to the touch afterward. A touch that had somehow communicated to her that he was a man of honor and truth.
How she knew those things defied logic, but with the passage of a few days and his call, she had decided not to run away from discovering more about him. A simple dinner date seemed like just the thing to do.
The restaurant Ricardo had picked out wasn’t anything fancy. She preferred that, not liking pretentious places that catered to pretentious people. Give her a place like this little hole in the wall any day, she thought as she examined the interior of the restaurant.
Padded benches covered in a dark brown faux leather lined the two side walls of the long, narrow space. An
tique brass studs marked the chairs at the small tables, giving the furniture an old-world Mediterranean feel. Wrought-iron sconces fitted with stained glass shades cast golden shadows on the stucco walls and the framed posters of various bullfights.
The light also cast its welcoming glow on Ricardo’s sharp features, warming his skin to a delectable caramel color and bringing out the auburn highlights in his dark hair.
“Do you like?” he asked, leaning forward slightly across the narrow table.
“It’s very Spanish.” As was the menu with an abundant list of authentic ethnic dishes, from paella to a green mariscada.
“I thought Spanish would be good since…well, I’m Mexican and you’re…” He paused, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Dominican, but I was born and raised here in New York City. How about you?”
“Born in Mexico and raised there for a little bit.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting beneath the crisp cotton of his pale blue, button-down shirt. He had dressed up for her, in that conservative shirt and dress pants. He looked nice, but she preferred the kind of bad-boy air he had in his usual jeans and T-shirt.
“Where else did you live?” she wondered out loud, recalling the photos she had seen in his apartment.
“My parents were migrant workers. For a long time, we went wherever there was a crop ready for harvesting, until we settled in the San Diego area.”
A hard edge had crept into his voice, further evidenced by the way he picked up his menu and almost used it as a shield against further inquiries.
“Must have been tough on you.”
She heard only a murmured “Sí” from behind the menu.
She picked up hers, but before looking at it, said, “The barrio was no playground while I was growing up. Lots of gangs and battles for territories. Drive-bys like the one we had a few months ago. Plus Papi lost his job for a little while. We all worked odd jobs to keep from going on welfare.”
Devotion Calls Page 5
